Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You
by Berlin's Brown Eyes
Summary: "Let the bones of history remain buried, Zelda, buried in ambiguity where they can do no harm." Full summary inside. LZ
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** All characters and places, save the few I make up, belong to Nintendo and some very rich Japanese man. All that does not belong to Nintendo and said Japanese man, including the plot of this story, belong to my imagination. Be wary; my imagination is wild and does not take kindly to thieves.

**_S_ummary:** Six years ago, Link left his home to follow the sweet chorus of adventure. Recently he was found on the verge of death near Lake Hylia. Having no memory of his life for the past six years, he must piece together fragments of reminiscences from his dreams. Slowly and painfully he discovers a past more shocking than he could fathom, unlocking the darkest conspiracy of the royal family. Can he salvage what is left of his heart and mind in time to save his beloved country and bemused love? Rated T for violence.

* * *

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: Prologue**

Following his adventure in Termina, Link returned once again to Hyrule. He lived in Hyrule Castle for a short time under the patronage of the Hylian king in exchange for his services as a low ranking guard. Due to his modest age, Link's occupation was not overwhelming in prestige, nor were his skills efficiently employed. He was often granted audience with the princess at her request, and so their mutual fondness deepened. Link, however, was left unsatisfied by the monotony of his duties at the castle and inevitably fell victim to the temptations of adventure. So our story begins...

High above Castle Town, on the balcony of the tallest west tower, she stood. Twilight glimmered in her eyes as she leaned upon the granite terrace. She faced the east, the sun casting the shadow of her mighty fortress across the land that would one day be hers. She imagined the day when armies would wait at her command and on every post her flag would wave, but it did not make her feel any more significant. She was a great star, appearing only as a shining dot in the void of space. She watched the figure of a boy disappear over the gentle hills of the field beyond. She was as powerless to keep him as she would be to keep a rogue comet, flying from orbit into the boundless frontier.

_"Zelda, you are my best friend,"_ he had told her. Had his words been hollow? Did Hyrule not hold a special place in his heart? Did she not? She searched within her for whatever fault could have made her not worth sticking around for.

Together they had saved Hyrule and sealed evil away for all time. Their suffering under Ganandorf was a bond thicker than blood. And thicker still were the divine chords of the triforce that could not be broken by distance or time. Was all this negated when she sent him back to live in the time they both had lost? She thought by restoring his childhood they could grow up together, and this time their friendship be not necessitated by the darkness of fate, but cultivated in a land of peace. Had she known how his youthful whims would inevitably force them apart, would she have sent him back after all? Was it her selfishness that drove him from her?

The wind blew strongly. Its transparent breath rustled in the trees and whistled through the canyons of her broken heart. The branches swayed; the leaves sighed. A droplet fell against the ledge of her veranda, but there were no clouds above her. It was the sort of rain that existed solely as the tears in her heart, every last shard of it.

"Princess? Please, milady, do come inside." She quickly tried to compose herself before turning to the young knight who beckoned her to leave her misery on the balcony. He was tall and handsome, with dark hazel eyes and chestnut hair.

"I don't understand why he has to go." She took the skirt of her nightgown in one hand and wiped her tears with the other as she reluctantly left her sanctuary. She was only thirteen years old, and Link was not much older. How could she understand him when she could scarcely understand her own feelings?

"Don't worry, Princess. I'm sure it won't be long until we see him again." He exposed Link's wrinkled hat from his opposite hand. "It seems he left you this." She unfolded the simple green cloth, exposing the smooth surface of Link's fairy ocarina.

She traced the holes of the wooden instrument with her fingers. "Thank you, Iain. If that be all, good night."

"Aye, milady, g'night." He watched her sitting on her bed, clinging to memories as silent tears swelled in her eyes. He lingered in the doorway momentarily before departing for the night.

It wouldn't be the first time he had gone, and perhaps Iain was right; maybe he would return just as he had before. But she could not convince herself. This time his leaving left an impression of permanence. She clutched the hat and ocarina to her breast and wept.


	2. Homeward

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: Homeward**

It had been about six years since Link's departure, and although he was often present in the young princess's mind, life in Hyrule apathetically moved on without him. The grass grew tall in summer, died in winter and was reborn each spring. Trade flourished and the towns grew.

In this time of prosperity the children of Hyrule became adolescents and the adolescents became young adults. Time rolled along like a goron down a mountain; the longer the duration, the faster it moved. At maximum velocity it ripped the roots of Zelda's heart from the ground and pulled it along like a tumbleweed, spilling seeds of memories along the way in hopes of having something to one day cling to.

Even still, the Princess did not seem unhappy. She was inquisitive and took great interest in medicine. At fourteen she professed that she would rather be a doctor than a queen. By seventeen she realized this was a diminishing possibility. Given his age, the King was unlikely to remarry and produce a male heir, so queen she might well be—someday. She found solitude in caring for her garden, a small responsibility in comparison to a kingdom. She became well admired at court, for her wisdom as well as her beauty. The strength of her mind and gentleness of her voice won her many allies.

Her company and her flowers made the days more than bearable, but the nights were often long and sleepless. On one such night, at half past two in the morning, in the highest west tower, one candle's light joined that of the myriad of stars in the heavens. A slender shadow was cast against the previous darkness of her chamber walls. A clamoring in the town below had aroused Zelda from her restlessness. She reached for the window drapes, hoping to expose the culprit guilty of such pandemonium.

There! Before the castle gate there was a man holding a torch. Another carried something in his arms, something that must have been heavy for he seemed to stagger clumsily toward the castle entrance. He yelled something unintelligible to the guards who in turn set off a chain of thunderous commands.

She heard the rusty metallic hinges creak and the hollow wooden echo of the doors of the fortress as they were thrust open. Moments later, a frantic fist was set upon her door, which soon produced a very disorganized looking knight. He panted wildly, his hand over his heart as if to calm it.

"Iain, what is this?" she demanded.

"Do not be alarmed, milady," he paused to wheeze, "Everything is under control."

"What is _'under control'_? What is going on?" She jostled her way past the knight in a flurry of impatience and curiosity.

"Wait Milady, you mustn't go down there!"

But his words were disregarded as Zelda's light feet tread like water down the scarlet rapids of carpeted stairs to the foyer. She called to whomever would answer, "I demand to know the cause of this commotion...!"

Her knees buckled beneath her at the sight of inexplicable scene before her. The unwieldy object that had been brought in by the two men, was in fact a brutally beaten young man dressed in the tatters of a green tunic and brown trousers.

"Link...?"

She watched as several servants were feverishly dressing wounds and cleaning the bleeding mass of broken bones and blond hair. She wanted to rush to his side, if not for an explanation then at least to extend a comforting hand. But the two strong arms of her knight, who had since caught up with her, forced a wedge between her and her long-absent friend.

"Will he be all right?" she asked, her voice dripping with apprehension.

"There is nothing you can do, milady, but rest, please. They will do all they can for him." As Iain turned to leave, he noticed the Princess tarry near the doorway. He sighed softly to himself.

* * *

Towards the end of next day Zelda peered around the corner of the hall where Link was being attended. She saw a servant coming from his room, carrying what scraps were left of his clothing. She watched as the servent continued a path down the narrow hallway, eventually disposing of the bloodstained attire.

She stepped warily inside. Curtains shrouded the room in a suffocating darkness, save a candle at his bedside. She placed a set of clean clothing on the table next to his bed. The shadows of the flame wavered on his face. She approached the seemingly lifeless body quietly, hoping not to wake him. She traced her finger along a laceration on his cheek. She could not help but notice how his once boyish facial features had been replaced by those of a hardened man. His chest rose and fell regularly with every ragged breath. His right arm grasped his bandaged ribs, revealing the strength of his muscular frame. The last time she had seen him he was only a thin boy of perhaps fourteen, but now, six years later, he had the appearance of a strong young man.

"Well look at you," she whispered, brushing stray blond strands of hair from his face. "I was beginning to think you weren't ever coming back." She pulled a stool close to his bedside and sat down.

"I waited so long for you to return that it's hard for me believe you're really here. So much has happened while you were away. Princess Ruto just got married last month." Zelda smiled. "I guess she got tired of waiting for you. And Malon is running Lon Lon Ranch now. She has raised some fine horses. We have several in the stables. Maybe when you feel up to it we can go riding."

The Princess sighed and folded her arms. "You can't hear a word I'm saying, can you? I'm just talking to myself." She frowned and rubbed her temples. She rose to leave but then noticed his knitted brows and tense expression, as if he was fighting in his sleep. The fingers on his left hand twitched. She instinctively reached down to touch them as though in stilling his hand she could somehow end whatever nightmare he was reliving.

"I wish you could tell me now of your adventures and deeds, and the seeming misfortune that has befallen you. Often you were in my thoughts. I do regret us not speaking before you left. If only I..." Her voiced faltered, "If only I had asked you to stay... we might have..." Zelda smiled wryly. "But there is no 'might have' is there?" She sighed softly while stroking his cheek. She felt him stir under hand and heard a soft moan escape his lips. She planted a soft kiss on his forehead. She could have sworn she saw a smile tug at his lips.

"Sleep well... Hero of Time."

The door clicked shut and his eyes eased open. Link's hand went to his cheek. He tried to sit up but immediately regretted any such notion of movement. He failed to stifle a small cry as a sharp pain shot up through his ribs. He pressed his hands over his wound, trying to keep it from bleeding again. He reached for the bedpost for support. He drew the drapes slightly, allowing only enough light in to see the last bit of sun being devoured by dusk. He rested his head gingerly against the window, trying desperately not to aggravate another tender spot. He wondered what had become of the man who had brought him in. He massaged his temples and groaned softly. If only he could remember...

It was six years ago, they said. He had recently returned from his eighteen-month trek through the Lost Woods, to Termina, and back again. But he did not stay long in Hyrule, for adventure's sweet whispers seemed to be calling from a new wind. Link did not leave well with Zelda. He could not even speak a farewell to her. He left his ocarina and hat with her, as a promise to return. It was obvious that she hadn't wanted him to go; a piece of him hadn't wanted to part from her either, for reasons unbeknown to himself. The events shortly after his departure were distorted, nearly wiped clean from memory. Mere flashes of reminiscences were all that remained. They rewound themselves and played repeatedly, hauntingly, in the back of his mind.

He shook his mind free from the dark reverie and turned his attention to the stack of clean garments that Zelda had brought for him. He smiled as his thoughts wandered back to her and the solace her voice offered. His hand drifted back to his cheek, how he had cherished the one simple touch of her hand. He wondered at her words.


	3. A Naked Rose

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You****: A Naked Rose  
**

Zelda raised the scarlet flower to her lips and inhaled as deeply as a diver would before leaping into Lake Hylia, but to her chagrin, smelled nothing. No sweet or even acrid fragrance teased her senses. Either there was something wrong with her roses or... with her nose. The Princess held up the rose to examine it. There was no sign of disease or parasite so she quickly dismissed it and snipped the stem. She traced her finger along its petals, permitting the dewdrops to slide down her fingers. She was gathering roses that would be dried and used to make a wreath for her mother's grave. It was an annual tradition to lay a wreath on her tomb on what would have been her mother's birthday.

"Ow!" Zelda dropped a handful of roses and examined her index finger.

Iain, who was never too far away, rushed to the aid of his princess. "Are you all right, milady?"

Zelda nursed her wounded finger. "I just pricked my finger is all, Iain."

"Let me..." he whispered, gently pressing her finger to his lips and then stroking it between his own fingers, wiping away any traces of blood. She smiled at his gesture. "I think you should leave the cutting to the gardeners next time, milady." The princess smiled at his concern, though sometimes an annoyance, it was rather sweet.

"I'll be fine, though next time remind me to bring my gloves. These sweetbriers have grown more beastly than your average garden variety. You'd think that if anything they should have grown more tamely what with less danger of being eaten." She laughed softly at herself.

"Aw, but milady, perhaps some things are so lovely and well-preserved _because _they have such beastly thorns." He winked at her.

"Iain, are you implying that I am a like beastly-thorned flower? Has your protection allowed me to grow lovely, is that it?"

"I said no such thing," he teased. She slapped him playfully on the shoulder.

She smirked, "I'm sure—" She paused. "Do hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Shh, listen..."

Both grew silent and could distinctly hear the soft tune of an ocarina, a tune that was hauntingly familiar to Zelda.

"He must be awake," she whispered to herself.

"Who?" Iain asked, puzzled.

"_Link_. Do you not hear the music?"

"I hear it, milady," he answered, though he did not recognize the tune or immediately identify the player as Link, and thus, did not understand his lady's change in mood. She sighed a frustrated sigh and left wordlessly.

* * *

Link sat dangerously close to the edge of his open window, fingering the notes of the Royal Family's sacred melody on his ocarina, the Ocarina of Time, which Zelda had entrusted to him. He stopped momentarily to dust a smudge from its glossy exterior and then resumed playing. He was so engrossed in his song that he did not hear the door open.

A voice called to him from across the room, "_Link_!"

Startled by the present knowledge that he was no longer alone, he fumbled the ocarina in his hands. At last, it escaped his fingers and was thus claimed by the cold stone floor. He looked up to find two remarkably violet eyes staring back at him.

"Zelda...?"

"Oh, Link!" she exclaimed, pulling him into an embrace that could only rival that of the Goron clan. "I am so glad to see you awake."

"Milady, you are hurting me."

"Oh, forgive me. It's just that I— " She froze and exclaimed, "_Goddesses!_" Zelda stepped back in horror and observed his bandaged forehead. "That's new. What happened?"

"Uh, this," he said, motioning towards his face, "This is how I found out that I have several broken toes." He did not look her in the eyes as if he were embarrassed. "I took a bad step getting up. I upset the nightstand; my head struck the post and my elbow kissed side of the bed frame." Zelda visibly cringed as he retold the tale.

"Is it... broken? —Your arm, I mean."

He shook his head. "The physician didn't think so, but he advised against using it."

"And here I have only made it worse. I'm so sorry, I should let you rest." She took a step towards the door, but was abruptly halted by a tug at her dress.

"Please don't go, milady, unless you mean to grieve me," he humbly said. "No one has come to see me except for the ladies who change my bandages. They won't let me go out, and all there is to do here is stare at the walls." He looked at her pleadingly. "Counting the wood grains in the ceiling beams has become awfully dull, and I do wish you would stay with me. Perhaps we can count them together?"

He meant to make her smile, but she did not. She looked away from him. He wondered if he had somehow offended her. "You need not address me so formally, Link. We are friends, are we not? It pains me that you do not recognize our formal intimacy." She was not angry, but wounded.

Link was unsure how to explain to Zelda that she could not be more wrong about his feelings for her. "I didn't mean to... I—I'm sorry, Zelda," he stammered, "It has been so long since you—since I... have spoken with you—or anyone—intimately."

Several moments of uncomfortable silence passed before he exhaled a lengthy sigh, expecting her to speak. She wouldn't disappoint him. "I... I brought your cap."

"My _cap_?" he asked, surprised. He hadn't worn it in so long he nearly forgot what had happened to it.

"Aye, the one you left, remember?" She placed it in his hands and curled his fingers around her own. "It must be too small for you now, but I just thought... Link, I have missed you so much and... I want to know where you have been. Whatever happened to you?" She stared down at her hands.

He leaned back against the wall, exhaling inaudibly and looking at her with glassy eyes in such a way that any onlooker would have sworn that by asking him to speak, she was putting him through a terrible and unparalleled pain.

His look did not go unnoticed by the princess. "It would be better to talk of that later, I suppose."

They sat in silence.


	4. Sorrow and Uncertainty

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: Sorrow and Uncertainty  
**

It was several days after Link's homecoming, and the beginning of the week that was designated for Zelda to honor the life of her mother. She placed a reverent wreath of roses on the grave and lit a candle at its center. Her eyes would have welcomed tears of sadness but her mind would not allow her heart to mourn for an absent memory. She never knew her mother. She was told that she died when she was less than two weeks old of complications during her birth. Essentially living her entire life without her, it was hard for Zelda to imagine her mother as anything but a name that existed solely on an elaborate epitaph.

Grayness filled the entirety of the horizon, it consumed her breadth of vision and it eroded away the edges of her heart. Gray— summed up in the form of an inanimate stone. She felt as lifeless as the grave and the body beneath it. She ran her fingers along the fissures of the engraved letters as if touching for the first time.

"'Silvanna Harkinian,'" a deep voice read aloud. It was Iain, _never-too-far-away_ Iain. It was always him. "She was a noble women, a loving wife, I've heard. Though I being too young, remember only her beauty."

"Iain...?" she whispered, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"I'm sorry, milady, if I am intruding."

She sniffed in her sorrow. "We have no secrets, Iain. There's nothing sacred or profound buried under your feet."

"Well, I know milady does not cry over anything trivial." He traced a circle in the loose dirt with his foot. "Is it that you miss having a mother?"

"Miss having her...?" the princess repeated thoughtfully, "Oh Iain, how can I miss her? You see these—these tears. I am not weeping because I miss her, not because of the pain or loss I feel, but because every time I see this grave, every time I read that name... I feel guilty. I feel guilty that I don't feel _anything_." She cried into the mail between the steel plates of his shoulder and draped her arms around his neck. "It's so hard, Iain... to live in her shadow. It's suffocating me, trying to measure up to something I've never known. The court expects me to be this... this Zelda Harkinian that I'm not."

He submitted to her embrace and sheltered her in his arms. "Shh... Don't cry, Princess. Don't dwell too much on what you hear. Forgive them that they can't yet understand you. Just be yourself, and they will grow to love their princess as you are." he whispered next to her ear, inhaling the sweet fragrance of her hair. He would have given anything to see her gentle smile again, to hear her soft laughter; but as much as he wanted to, he could not assuage her broken heart. He could offer no empathy to console her.

* * *

Link wore a blank expression, but within him his mind was raging a war against threatening tears, or the closest thing to tears his indifferent façade could muster. He stared intensely into the courtyard below, clinging to the stone of his window.

There is a simple place below consciousness where truth and truth alone reside, untainted and unsullied by the muddy ties of social constraint. It was from this core of honesty that Link knew, not yet consciously, that he loved her. He loved her against reason, against possibility, and perhaps against his own will.

He saw her standing in the hold of man, a man that wasn't him. Could he call it envy? The circumstance had thrust an unknown anger into his hands, anger that as of yet, he could not define.

He sighed a sigh of utter hopelessness. He wished that he had never left. His situation might have been better. Wishing was useless, however, because there is no appropriate place in the present for "might have." Zelda had said that just the other day. He had been not quite awake and not quite asleep when she had come to see him, but he didn't feel the need to spoil her frankness by revealing that he was semi-aware of her presence. She had spoken such kind words to him, touched him so tenderly, giving him the impression that she had feelings for him, but now his thoughts were confounded by his current glimpse of her and Iain's entanglement. Had he misinterpreted her words? Perhaps Zelda had moved on. Zelda... She was not the little girl he knew before. She had matured both mentally and physically. The way her flaxen tresses cascaded over delicate shoulders... How could she be so strong on the inside, yet her hands so gentle...

He had always found her lovely. From their first meeting he developed a childish infatuation with her. But it was not her beauty that had first captured him; it was her tenderness and innocence. It was her heart, her sympathy that radiated beauty. His fixation had manifested through their close friendship, but they were no longer children. His feelings for her were more than of a loyal subject, more than of friendship, more than an immature infatuation. In battle he was dauntless, but these feelings, so new to his heart, frightened him. It was simple to be a child, to not feel such things. Now it was so complex. There were so many questions. And for the first time in his recollection, he needed someone. He felt so weak.

"Oh, Zelda... What have you done to this pathetic soul of a man?" he whispered.

He returned to his bed. Pulling the covers over his head, he wished to shield himself from reality. As he closed his eyes the image of their embrace remained burned in the back of his eyelids. He clenched them tightly and tried to shake the thought loose from his mind, but to no avail. He thus surrendered his consciousness to the bringer of sleep, drifting into a hypnagogic state of anxiety and dread. His subconscious conjured dreams of past misfortunes and misery and flashes of battles lost.


	5. Her Royal Servitude

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: Her Royal Servitude  
**

For the next few weeks Link remained at Hyrule Castle. Though he would have liked to venture to the Kokori Forest or Lon Lon Ranch to see his friends after being so long absent, he was for the most part confined to his bed. As his wounds slowly healed, he was allowed to once again take up practicing the sword _in moderation_, with which he was currently occupied.

Bathed in sunlight and lying in sea of grass, he stared into the cloudless abyss of sky above him. He was winded, having just been knocked flat on his back. He tried to breathe again, but too deeply. A sharp pain from the pit of his lungs filled his chest like oxygen. His eyes widened with anxiety as he clutched his breast, and then clenched shut as if it would somehow numb the throbbing ache.

Iain, his sparring partner, called out to him, "Link! Weary already?"

He merely huffed in response. Iain paced over to Link's place on the ground and loomed over his body, partially blocking out the sun and casting a shadow across his face.

"Are you all right? Do I strike too forcefully?" the knight asked concernedly.

Link groaned and reluctantly pulled himself off the ground with Iain's helpful hand. "No, I can still breathe."

"Here. You dropped this." Iain handed Link his sword. He took it in his left hand and then forced it into the grassy plain. The exhausted young man rested on its handles with his head bowed, unruly locks of hair shading his face.

"How's his foot?" called a voice from behind them, evidently of the royal physician.

"How is your foot?" Iain repeated, softly.

"Sore." His voice was unmoving. He didn't look up as he spoke or stir in anyway.

"And your ankle?"

"Sore."

"Anything else still sore?"

"Everything that was before, and..." He winced and rubbed his chest. "A few new places, it seems." He exhaled. "I'm only getting worse, aren't I." It wasn't a question.

"Nonsense," Iain assured. "I'll just be easier on you next time. You up for another spar?"

Link looked up at him from in between tangles of hair. "I... don't think so."

* * *

Several meters away Zelda sat under the shade of the oldest tree in the royal courtyard. She leaned against the sturdy trunk only loosely interested in the bound collection of ancient tragedies she pretended to be studying.

Impa approached from behind her. "Is this the doctor's idea of therapy?"

The moment Zelda heard Impa's voice, she buried her face in the book before her. "I can't read his handwriting, let alone his mind."

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Hardly. All this sweat, dirt and blood are making me nervous."

Impa suspected that the princess's irritation originated in concern. "You don't want Link to be injured," she assumed.

"I don't want either of them to be injured," the princess admitted.

"Link agreed to it though. He said he wanted to get out."

"Couldn't he have fresh air without _this_?" Zelda motioned toward the men.

Link loomed over Iain, sword against sword. She gasped and put her gloved hand to her mouth as she watched Iain push his opponent forward and rise again to his feet. Their swords met once more above their heads. The knight conceded one step, but only to swing his sword from below. Link stumbled forward and then felt Iain's second blow nearly knock his sword from his hands. The knight followed up with a shove of his shoulder against Link's chest as if to pry him from his weapon. He fell backwards and remained motionless on the ground.

Zelda stared accusingly at the acclaimed doctor. He could only shrug and ask Link if he was feeling okay. She rubbed her temples and sighed in frustration.

"I'm surprised that he hasn't improved much in the last few weeks," the doctor scratched his head nervously, "For someone his age and condition of health, it is most unusual that he should not be healing more rapidly. From now on I want to see him eating properly and getting a dose of healthy, but not over strenuous, exercise."

* * *

The afternoon of the following day, Zelda watched Link from the window of her bedroom. He was shooting arrows at a wooden targets that were placed at various heights and distances around the courtyard. His bare arms and strong shoulders pulled taunt the bow; his steady eye aimed with masterly precision. Upon release it sailed swiftly to its mark, the dead center.

Zelda wondered if it was it possible to want something very much, but yet want just as much, if not more, to have never laid eyes on it? The air between them was a stifling void and she sought only elongate it. She stared at him longingly, though she would not admit it to anyone, even herself. Her window became a prison that kept her from him.

"You've had your eye on him for quite some time now," Impa remarked.

There was no point in asking of whom Impa was inquiring; it could be no one else.

"Yes, my eyes happen to be drawn to novel faces rather than ones I've seen every day for the past lifetime," she replied coyly.

"You think he is handsome."

"So what if he is handsome? I would be blind if I couldn't admit that." Zelda sighed and rested her hairbrush on the ivory surface of her vanity. "I don't think there's a girl in Hyrule who _wouldn't_ admit that."

"That is beside the point." Impa retrieved the princess's newest gown from the closet and placed it on her bed.

"And what is the point, Impa?"

"He is the savior of this sovereignty, and of _you_ personally. He has proven himself countless times, been knighted in three kingdoms, Hyrule included. Your father would not deny him your hand, you know."

"I think you are too far ahead of yourself, Impa. I said he was _handsome_. But there are plenty of other men who are equally attractive, and I have expressed no desire to marry any of them."

Zelda paused in consideration. Yes, she felt for him. Yes, her father and her people would approve of him. There was still, however, one more variable. "Besides, is it safe to assume _he_ would not deny _me_?" she reminded her determined nursemaid.

"He is not a man if he could disregard such beauty and charm." Impa winked.

"But he is free, Impa. Adventure holds that space in his heart; there's no place for me. Adventure is his only mistress. Asking Link to stay here would be merciless. Can I even say that I love him? And if I did, would it really matter? I dare say that marrying for love has never been encouraged before in this family. So you see, while he is free to love as he wills, his heart belongs to his exploits and ventures and mine belongs to destiny."

"And are you not free as well, Princess?" she asked, tainted with sarcasm.

"You know as much as I do that royalty are simply well-fed slaves dressed in silk."

"You have more freedom than you think, milady. Most fathers have auctioned their daughters off to marriage by their fifteenth birthday, but you were given a choice. His patience is wearing thin and that window of freedom may not be open forever. I suggest you reconsider before he changes his mind."


	6. A Burning Tightrope

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: A Burning Tightrope  
**

Zelda sighed and placed a tentative knock against the coarse wooden door. She could hear no stirring inside, no one stumbling to the door, no one permitting her to enter.

"Link?" She opened the door with diffidence, but found nothing in the dark room but an empty bed. Taking only moments to wonder where he could be this late in the evening, she soon turned to leave. She saw a servant walking down the hall from her own room.

She addressed her, "Hanna?"

"Aye milady? How can I be of service?"

"Do you know where is Sir Link?"

"I believe he may yet be in the bath, milady, or dressing."

"Oh... Would you inform him that after he is done, I would like to speak with him?"

"Of course, milady."

A stout elderly woman peeped her head into the hallway from a door down the hall. "We are currently redressing his bandages, milady; do you still wish to see him?"

"Aye," she answered, somewhat hesitantly.

"Well, 'ere, come in," she offered, opening the door to expose two other woman, one wrapping Link's ankle and the other wrestling with the bandage around his waist. Link, himself, was lying on his bed with his face buried in his pillow. "'Ow's he comin' 'long now?" the older woman asked.

"Still not cooperatin', if that's what ye mean," answered the young lady at his ankle.

The woman standing next to her leaned in close to her ear. "He wouldn't eat this mornin', milady, and he'd let not one of us touch 'em. Practically 'ave to sit on 'em, we did," she whispered, harshly. Zelda rested against the doorframe, watching him writhe in pain and discomfort, all the while spewing shameless profanities from his lips as though trying to purge them of poison.

"Might I finish this?" Zelda asked, loud enough for Link to hear. He froze in place at the sound of her voice, aware of her presence.

"If ye think ye can 'andle 'em, milady, ye're right welcome to 'em," she gruffly replied, "We've got 'is legs done and started on 'is back and still yet to do 'is chest, that's if we could ever get 'em to move. Anthin' ye might be needin' is right there on that table."

"All of you may leave."

"Yes, milady," they answered simultaneously and exited.

She walked over to Link and placed a hand on his back, but he turned his head away from her, embarrassed by his own rudeness.

"How do you feel?" the princess asked sympathetically.

"Violated," he grumbled. She smiled despite his seriousness.

The princess removed her silken gloves. "Stop me if I hurt you."

She accepted his subtle groan as a positive response and proceeded to lift the loose strips of linen from his back. His bruises, now greenish yellow in color, remained even after several weeks. The shallow cuts and abrasions had mostly scabbed over, but the deeper lacerations, those that required suturing, were still wet with colorless fluid. Constant movement of his shoulders made it difficult for them to heal. She felt him shudder under her hands and breathe in sharply as she poured wine-based ointment over his skin. He relaxed as she delicately massaged the the base of his shoulder blades.

He lifted his head slightly so as not to speak into the sheets. "They said you wanted to speak with me."

"Aye, I did," her voice continued uneasily, "Next week is my birthday and I wanted to invite you to the ball. I know you might not feel well enough to dance, but... I—I would like to see you there."

He smiled, though she could not see his face. She paused, attempting to free him from the last bandage that had not yet been cut loose from his body. He sensed her struggling and shifted uncomfortably.

"There's a knife on my belt."

The princess found it and pulled it awkwardly from its sheath at his waist, and was surprised to find that what Link referred to as a knife, was in fact a 30 centimeter, double-edge dagger. She eyed it uneasily and silently prayed she would not kill him. She hesitantly slipped the blade under one layer of fabric and cut it cleanly in two smooth, upward and downward strokes.

"So will you attend?"

"Attend?" he asked groggily. It was hard to pay attention to Zelda's words as her hands soothed his wounded flesh.

"The ball next week, of course."

He took so long to respond that Zelda thought he fell asleep. "I will," he said at last.

"Good. Iain will enjoy your company." Link's smile turned sour at Iain's mention. "We should let your back breathe for now. You'll have fresh bandages in the morning." She put the old ones on the stand next to the dressing table. "I'm going to need you to lie on your back now."

Link was previously unaware of the princess's knowledge of medicine, but he was grateful for it. He preferred her over the other squabbling nurses. They hadn't been quite as gentle in touch or instruction. With minimal struggling he turned to lay on his back. He rested his hands on his upper body almost as if it shamed him. There was a ghastly penetration wound near his shoulder above his heart that had been cauterized and several other incisions across his torso that looked slightly infected. He knew she was staring at him, or rather at his exposed chest. He turned his face to the window.

Zelda was dumbfounded by how badly he had been cut up. She pitied the poor man, lying on a makeshift bed at the mercy of her hands, and with no other dignity than what was was afforded him by his trousers.

She tried to disguise her shock by mixing more ointment. "I see that your arm is better," she commented, approaching him with a dampened cloth.

He raised his arm and set it down again, proof that it was indeed fine without its sling. "It was only a sprain."

"These cuts are not as dry as the ones on your back, so this may sting a little... or a lot." She lightly pressed the cloth to the middle of his chest and then traced along a cut to just below his ribcage, surprised that he had remained so unflinching. She brought the cloth back up to his collarbone and gently moistened the wounds on his shoulder and against his neck.

"This must be painful," she whispered against his cheek.

"I've felt worse."

The princess thought it was a morbid shame that such an honorable man as Link should be subject to—Well, whoever or whatever had done this to him, she could hardly fathom such an atrocity. It silently angered her to think that the goddesses would allow such an attractive man to have his body so badly mangled. She rubbed more forcefully against his seared skin.

"Zelda...?" he whispered her name so softly and covered her hand with his, pressing it firmly against his chest, rendering it immovable.

Startled from her thoughts by his sudden action, she stopped and peered up at in him questioningly. She realized how very close her face was to his. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

He did not answer, but gently removed the cloth from her hands. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. The way he looked at her so intensely made her nervous. "Your hands were softer," he said.

She felt his hand on her cheek and instinctively placed hers over it. She leaned in closer to him, the air between them reducing to mere millimeters and then to nothing at all. His lips were closed, soft and unsure. He pressed them against hers only lightly. She permitted his kiss, though she didn't know how to respond. After a moment she pulled away from him and stared into his puzzled eyes.

"I—I'm sorry," he stuttered. He cast his gaze towards the wall. "Forgive me. I suppose I could be hung for that."

Zelda touched her lips with her fingers and then curled her hand against her neck. The experience had not been unwelcome, but it was certainly novel. She had never been kissed before. It made her feel as though she were tottering on a tightrope—both dangerous and excited. "Link... Link, look at me." She lifted his chin with her finger and smiled. "I would rather have my flesh putrefy for a thousand years in the bowels hell than see you die by my hand."

"Then..." he looked up at her hopefully, "May I kiss you once more?"


	7. Flirting with Angst

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: Flirting with Angst**

"Link? What are you doing out here?" Iain approached Link from the great stone arches of the ballroom's exterior. Inside the Princess was hosting her eighteenth birthday party.

Link sighed. "It was too stuffy in there."

"Oh, I stepped out for some air myself." Iain cleared his throat. "Does the Princess know that you're here?"

"I don't think so, but I said I would be here—I mean, she even asked me to be here, though goddesses know why." He tapped his lame foot with his crutch. "Maybe she thought I would make a handsome ornament against her wall."

"Hmm, maybe that's what she thinks of me as well." Iain sat down on the balcony's ledge next to Link. "Forgive my curiosity, but 'Link' is not your real name, is it?"

The hero shrugged. "I've known no other."

"Then what is your surname? I've never heard anyone call you anything but Sir... Link."

Link leaned back on his arms and looked up at the stars. "I've never had one."

"Oh?" The knight raised his eyebrow in curiosity.

"I never knew my father," Link explained, "and my mother passed away soon after I was born."

"Oh. I'm sorry if I—

"No, no; it's fine," he said casually, "I don't even know how old I am either."

After a moment of silence, Iain continued, "My father died when I was young also. I was about five years old. He was captain of the Hylian Army, so I didn't see him much anyway. But my mother is still living. She now serves the King's sister, but once she was a lady in the late Queen's court." He rubbed his chin in thought. "You know, ever since the Queen died, the Royal Family has...Well, it's not as lively around here as it used to be. The King and the Princess hardly see each other. They seldom speak. They're almost strangers, and I cannot bear to see them this way. The Princess grew more distant, cold—especially after you left."

Link looked at him with guilty eyes and then glanced back into the bustling ballroom. Zelda was dancing with some well-established nobleman. He held one gloved hand in his while the other firmly grasped her waist.

"She is beautiful, isn't she?" Iain had evidently traced his gaze to the princess in the soft blue silk gown.

He scoffed. "Words," he muttered, still entranced in his enduring daydream, "She defies words."

Iain inwardly smirked. "She told me last week that you kissed her."

"Oh." Link found his boots suddenly very interesting. "I didn't think she would tell anyone." He abruptly lifted his head and matched Iain's eyes. "She didn't say anything else did she?"

"No. Why?" Iain eyed him suspiciously.

Link leaned his back against the stone pillar of the balcony's arch. "Well, I did kiss her..." Iain prodded him to continue. "I kissed her twice actually. But the way she kissed me back—well, I have never felt anything like that from a woman. It was almost like falling off a cliff. Then all of a sudden she got upset and left the room." He rubbed his face with his hands. "She hasn't spoken to me since. She only looks at me. At breakfast, at dinner, always—as if she expects something from me."

Iain shook his head. "Forgive her, Link. She isn't used to that. You might have scared her—or _love_ scares her."

"I thought maybe it was because she has feelings for you...instead."

Iain chuckled softly. "Don't be ridiculous. I mean, I do... love her, but as a servant loves his master, as a father loves his child. I can never tell her, never _show _her. I defend a heart that I cannot touch. I don't love her the way she loves you."

"You think she loves me?"

"Goddesses, I hope so, or she wouldn't have spent the last five years pining for even a word from you. She would cry herself to sleep. Once I even heard her call out your name in her dreams. She is probably just afraid that you'll disappear again. If you don't love her, at least don't break her heart, and if you _do_ love her, well, she should know."

Link stared off into the ballroom. "I think I love her," he whispered.

He felt somewhat better, having gotten his confession out and knowing that there was no romantic engagement between Iain and Zelda. He found himself actually admiring Iain for his sense of responsibility and was thankful for his advice.

* * *

"Is he a prince from some distant land, that neither of us has ever heard of?"

Zelda leaned in close to her partner's ear. "Who?" she whispered.

"That young man, the one who has been eyeing you all evening," he answered, amused. Zelda briefly glanced over her shoulder, towards the balcony that he had indicated. She saw Link speaking with Iain. She had not really expected Link to come. After that whole episode she didn't anticipate his forgiveness either.

"Are you unwell?" the nobleman asked concernedly.

Zelda looked up, an embellished a smile upon her lips. "No, I am well."

"You've just turned ten shades whiter and..." His words died somewhere between his lips and her ears. Zelda was not focusing on him. She was contemplating whether or not to approach Link. Reaching a decision, she turned to her companion, smiled apologetically, placed a delicate hand in his and quickly excused herself. She weaved through the couples on the congested ballroom floor, which her father prided was indeed solid marble. The princess was impeded by her unexceptional height. Muttering occasional apologies, she navigated to a place on the floor that would allow her to see which direction she was headed. She stood on the tip of her toes and craned her neck in the direction of Link's former position, finding that he was no longer there. She could not have imagined him. Her eyes shifted frantically from one corner to another. Perhaps he had seen her. Perhaps that's why he left. Perhaps he had only left the balcony. Perhaps... Perhaps she should just lie down. It wasn't exactly how she had wanted her birthday to end, but perhaps sleep would bring her a sweeter dream than she could wish from blowing out birthday candles.

Everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves. They probably wouldn't even notice she was gone. Without a second thought she decided to head in the general direction of the entrance hall. With so many people it was hard to tell. Did she even know all these people? She stepped into an empty corridor, finally able to breath again. She hadn't taken more than a few steps when she heard clumsy footsteps from behind. She turned, startled to find none other than Link, leaning against a marble column near the frame she had just walked through. He was looking at his feet, his hair hiding his eyes as it often did. She approached him cautiously.

"I did not expect you..." She extended a gloved hand and gently ran satin fingers down his cheek. He flinched at her touch as if it were hot iron to his skin. She looked at him directly, fearful of his sudden response and the fire that burned within his eyes. It was not anger, but it was clearly not joy either.

"Please don't... don't do this to me." His expression softened.

"What am I doing to you?" she asked, softly, holding his face in her hands.

"You pull me close and push me way—then pull me in again? I'm not... I'm not the hook at the end of your fishing rod." He removed her hands from his face. "Please Zelda, just be honest with me. Your silence tortures me. If you would but speak, command me, and I would stay with you."

The princess looked regretful. "But you aren't mine to keep," she said softly.


	8. Faculty of Sight

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: Faculty of Sight**

"I am sorry, Link. I cannot make you stay. I won't ask that of you." She had too much pride to admit how much she needed him, and not enough heart to chain him down. She wanted him to remain with her, close to her, but more than that, she wanted _him_ to want to. She turned her back to him, her head bowed in sorrow. Silent tears welled in her eyes as she struggled to walk away composedly.

Zelda sighed and eased her tense expression. She continued up the endless staircase, praying with every step that no servant would pass by and discover her absence from the reception. She opened her door as silently as was possible. She looked out the window at the blanketing night sky, at all the stars suspended in the heavens. The moon seemed so much brighter tonight. It shown in the sky like a mirror.

It reminded her of another evening not but a couple months ago when Link was brought in. She recalled his tattered clothing and his hair plastered to his face with sweat and blood, how dead he looked in his unconsciousness. How dead he had been to her for five years and how dead would he still be. Her heart ached for him, but her mind assured her that she could not reasonably demand so much of him. It offered not solace, but only that bittersweet aftertaste a draught of unrequited love could leave.

She slumped into the plush comfort of her bed. No servant being there to release her from her insufferable arraignment, her dress would be subject to remain with her until morning. She buried her powdered face further into her down pillow and kicked the shoes from her feet. She clenched her eyelids shut, feeling the wetness from her lashes dampening her quilt. And she stayed that way, awake yet with a numbed consciousness, for what seemed like hours, until the sweet supplier of sleep granted her reprieve from her troubled heart.

* * *

Link did not understand. Did she want him to leave the castle? Hyrule altogether? Had he wounded her so greatly that she no longer desired his companionship? Was she too noble and he too low? Was she too proud to see the veracity of his feelings for her? His questions filled him with agony as he lay awake in his bed. The closer he came to sleep the more erratic his thoughts became until at last his consciousness surrendered his thoughts to the haunting terrors that boiled beneath them.

In his dream he walked along an unfamiliar shore. The moon glowed in an unearthly radiance. The night was gray with haze. The darkness of thunderheads extended from east to west in domination of the horizon. No star could be seen. In the distance a flash of lightning splintered across the sky. The sea awoke with the raging thunder that followed.

Rain fell softly like tear drops on his skin. He looked up at the sickly moon, the rain permeating his thin tunic. He lowered his eyes to the level of the sea. Near the jagged rocks where the perpetual spray of the ocean was caught amongst tide pools, he saw the silhouette of two figures locked in a passionate kiss and lovers' embrace. He heard the faint melody of an ocarina.

He stepped forward. The woman's flaxen hair whipped in the night's sea breeze, its shine wavering in the shadows of the moon. Her lover took her face in his hands and placed one last gentle kiss on her fair lips. His fingers lingered on her cheek before he turned to leave.

He walked towards Link with his head bowed. His boots stepped soundlessly in the dampened sand. He did not lift his eyes or acknowledge him as he passed. Link watched him curiously.

The lightning struck again directly above him, splitting the sky with cracking thunder and illuminating it as if it were day.

Link found himself now looking into the sleeping quarters of a great sea galley, in the midst of another raging storm. The ship rocked violently with the thunderous voices of the sailors aloft. All the bunks in the cabin are empty, save one, in which a young man tossed restlessly in his sleep. He turned and rolled over, much like the ship tossing in the furious sea. The yelling upstairs intensified. Startled, he raised his head. The ship banked sharply, throwing Link against the cabin wall.

Instead of slumping to the floor, Link felt wet grass beneath him and heard the crashing of waves nearby. Slowly his vision focused. He gripped the long green blades between his fingers and lifted himself from the ground.

Several meters away, the young man from the ship lied unconscious in the sand, clutching a splintered plank in his arms. The plank bore the name of the ship, "Ile de Ciel."

A hand extended to the young man's neck, checking for his pulse. Tracing up the forearm, Link saw that it belonged to a woman with long blond hair and violet eyes, the same woman he had seen before in the moonlight. She dropped her basket of flowers next to her. It landed in the muddy sand with a soft thud. Link stared intensely at the fallen basket, watching the flower petals scatter helplessly in the breeze.

The flowers turned to ash; the sky darkened. Link rose to stand. The sand on which he had stood was now the deck of a ship. A towering monstrosity of a man whose dark features are eerily familiar stepped out of a shadow tightly gripping a sword. His hands were gloved in black leather and iron knuckles. Instinctively Link raised his sword arm, but found he bore no weapon. The man crept past Link as if he weren't even there. The blade was meant for someone else—a young man, leaning his tired head against a cargo crate near the bow of the ship. He appeared to be asleep. Link tried to call out to him in warning, but the young man did not stir. Link could only watch in apprehension as the young man sprung from his sleep with a painful cry. The wound was not fatal, but it was enough to startle him. His assailant yelled angrily and slapped him across the face. He must have wanted something from him that wasn't his life. The young man recovered quickly, however, and kicked the sword from his hand, wrestling him to the floor. The young man was greatly disadvantaged in stature against his attacker, but by skill he managed to pin him. He reached for the knife at his belt to further detain him, but stopped abruptly. His eyes clenched shut and his mouth gaped open in a silent scream. He grabbed his shoulder and yanked off the end of an arrow, the tip still embedded in his flesh.

The darkness produced a satisfied woman, smirking ominously with bow in hand and another arrow between her teeth. She was about the same age as her accomplice, middle-aged but with the beauty of youth. She had violet eyes. Her hair was gold. There was a distinct symbol branded into the back of her hand.

The assailant wasted no time in taking the young man's knife and throwing him violently off of him. He then picked him up by his shirt as if he was a sack of feathers and plastered him against the nearest mast, the tip of arrow digging into his shoulder. "Where is it? _Where is it?_" he demanded furiously. He poked the knife threateningly into the young man's chest above his heart.

"I...don't..." the young man wheezed, "have it."

The assailant plunged the knife deeper into the young man's chest, causing him to cry out once more.

"Then tell me_ where!_" he spat. The young man was silent except for his ragged breaths. The assailant punched him just below the eye and repeatedly in the ribs, leaving him breathless and choking up his own blood. His final blow to the young man's face rendered him unconscious. The two accomplices searched his limp body and whispered to each other. Apparently they didn't find what they were looking for. They left the body and retreated into to the darkness from which they came.


	9. Hanging by a Heart String

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: Hanging by a Heart String**

There are times in any man's life in which the strings of his heart, the very fibers of his being, are stretched beyond their elasticity. They screech and cry in their strain. Either he will let them break, their recoil twanging and echoing like a cracked copper bell, or they will break him. Will he mold his experience or will the experience mold him? Usually there is no simple answer, since he cannot isolate the effects of one from the other.

Link awoke unto cold sweat and labored breath. He gasped and clutched his chest. He recalled the feeling of blood on his calloused hands and trickling down between his shoulder blades. He was overwhelmed with a sense of thankfulness that his terror was merely a dream, but try as he might, he couldn't remember what caused him such turmoil. Only the feeling of horror remained. It tortured him relentlessly.

He opened his eyes only to be greeted by relative darkness. The closed curtains subdued the morning sun. He carefully set his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his crutch. He limped towards the window and drew the drapery. His squinted against the light, but he didn't turn away.

It was still mid spring but the air smelled of summer. The air was cool and dry like a summer morning in a valley by the sea. The sun shown warmly, reflecting in the dew drops of the dampened grass. Those still sleeping felt as though they were sleeping on clouds, while those who were awake could not help but smile.

Such was the world outside. The world inside, on the contrary, was not so livable.

Link rested his head against the cold stone frame of the windowsill. It had a wide ledge, wide enough for a weary soul such as he to sit. The sunlight seemed to shower him with vitality, but so did it also illuminate the evidence of his near-death experience. He touched the wounds on his chest. They seemed to be healing more rapidly. Scabs and scar tissue were at least a step up from oozing cavities.

A shopkeeper whistled happily in the square in the distance—the lucky, oblivious fool. He was obligated to nothing but paying his taxes. Link envied his ignorance.

He noticed his sword lying next to him and lifted it from the windowsill. He pulled the first few centimeters from its sheath and stared at it thoughtfully. It had been months since it had been used in battle. He wondered if he would ever be the same again.

He heard a light knock on the door behind him. Assuming it was a servant, he authorized their entrance.

"Link?" a quivering voice uttered. Oh goddesses, it was_ her_ voice. His muscles tensed as he buttoned his shirt.

"Link? May I speak with you?" Zelda's voice grew louder, more steady. She approached his seat at the window. He nearly jumped when he felt her hand on his shoulder. He had his face turned from her, pretending that the courtyard beyond was more fascinating than her beauty. He closed his eyes in the ecstasy of her closeness as her fingers combed his hair.

"I want to apologize for last night." She turned his face towards her. He opened his eyes again but was shocked when they met hers. He had seen her violet eyes in his dream. "I should not have been so—" He didn't seem to be listening. "Link?"

He recalled the flashes of his dream.

Zelda's eyes—they were the eyes of the lady on the shore in the moonlight. Those lips had kissed another among the rain and ocean mist. The young man asleep on the galleon, shipwrecked on the shore—that was him. He was the one who had been fatally assaulted, asleep on the cargo ship. But _why_ did that woman look so much like Zelda? The man who had attacked him seemed somehow familiar as well: his stature, his dark features, and even his voice—they were Iain's. Upon further consideration, he recognized indeed there was even a semblance between the knight and the princess: their hair was variant in shade but alike in wavy texture, their complexion was equal in fairness, they had a similar nose and jaw line...

"_Link?_"

He stared with wide eyes, unable to move. Every scene of the nightmare that his conscious mind swore he forgot flooded back instantaneously. The ship called the_ Isle of Ciel, _the wreck, and the man who nearly killed him—All the repressed memories were retrieved flawlessly.

"I—I remember..." he whispered, "...everything."

"What are you talking about?" Zelda asked, puzzled by his words. She watched his eyes glaze over in panic.

"I had a peculiar dream last night," he explained.

"You seem pale. Do you have a fever?" She felt his forehead his the back of her hand.

"I saw the ones who did this to me, Zelda. I saw their faces. I felt it. When I think of it I feel it all over again."

She stopped suddenly. "Who was it?"

"I do not know who, but it is frightening, Zelda, frightening that one of them looked so much like you. She had..._ your eyes._" Link stood up on the window ledge and gesticulated passionately. "_Why_, Zelda? Why did she so resemble you!" He did not ask her as if she knew, but as one who thinks aloud.

"Link, calm down," Zelda soothed, attempting to take him by the arm away from the threatening window.

"_I cannot!_"

"Please Link, step away from the window," she pleaded.

He sighed in frustration, preparing to step from the ledge. A clumsy knock upon his chamber door gave him a start, and his foot did not find the friction of the stone floor. Instead he tripped over the unfastened tassel of the window drapes, allowing his balance to fall victim to inertia and the rest of his body to gravity. Link grasped the curtains to save him from the several-meter descent. Zelda shrieked in horror as she watched his forehead collide with the sill's edge. His hold on the rogue curtain remained steady, but the rings were tearing from the dowel rod above the window at an alarming rate, causing Link to awkwardly descend the tower from his second floor room. He heard Iain burst through the door and Zelda's frantic commands above him. He dropped a few inches each time another ring broke.

"Link!" Zelda leaned over the edge of the window and called to him. "Are you all right?"

"I've just fallen out of a window and I'm hanging on to a bloody curtain for Din's sake!" he called back.

"I've sent Iain down, just hold on!"

"Right, what else would I do, " he muttered. The drape was down to its last ring with Link about two meters from the ground. From there he could see into the window of the first floor. Though the window was much smaller than those of the upper floors, his attention was seized by a portrait that hung at the end of the hall. It was the king's hall. The portrait was of a woman with violet eyes and a charming, almost seductive expression. That was her—the woman from his dream! He had to squint in order to read the inscription below the frame, "Sil...vanna... Hylia?"

At last the ring broke.


	10. Royal Confessions

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: Royal Confessions**

Was he dead? No. His breaths were shallow and uneven, but they were a sign of life. Link's eyes were like half-open windows with nothing but bare walls within. Zelda laid over him, her face in his hair as if she meant to cry over his corpse.

"Zelda..."

She lifted her head from his and stared into his eyes.

"I'm afraid you might need new curtains..." he muttered and smiled weakly.

"Ugh! You fobbing clay-brained little snipe!" Zelda playfully slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand. Link laughed and touched his forehead, which ached immensely. It had bled, but not significantly. His expression grew serious.

"Zelda, do you have any relatives named..." Link pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sylvia? Was that it?"

"No, I don't. Link, what are you talking about?"

"The man and woman who assaulted me. The woman—I think she was a member of the royal family."

"That's impossible, Link. My father and I are the only ones left."

"Are you sure? I could have sworn—"

"I'm positive, Link. Ugh, you're not even rational."

"I am perfectly rational," he groaned, straining his back in an attempt to lift himself from the protruding brush. He winced and rubbed his back. "Good goddesses, what did I land on?"

"Link, please, be still. You've gone and maimed your head. I've already sent Iain for the doctor."

His hand felt the half-dried blood above his brow. He looked up at his window about four meters from the courtyard green, and then at the ground directly beneath it and the indentation in Zelda's beloved rose bushes.

"Link, _please!_ You might have broken something."

He pushed himself to his feet and grasped his forehead as if he had been enveloped by a sounding cathedral bell. He tried to shake the feeling of someone beating his head like a tympani, but with little success.

"I'll be fine," he muttered as he skulked away, clutching his hair and covering his right eye with his hand.

* * *

Down the worn scarlet carpet, behind the tarnished gold handles of the tall oak doors that forever bask in their enormity, the aged king resided in a stifling darkness. A suffocating cloud of despondency shrouded the throne; the melancholy ambiance radiated from his somber frown. He sat on his plush velvet chair at his desk, studying frustratedly over his royal affairs. He sighed heavily as the sound the gold knockers echoed throughout the chamber.

"I said I want no disturbances!" he thundered.

The door creaked open slowly, letting in healthy amount of light along with Impa. "I beg your pardon, my lord, but a matter of great importance has called for your attention." The king grumbled and motioned for his victim—_guest_ to enter.

Link clumsily slid past Impa on her way out as he entered the king's throne room.

"How can I help you, young lad?" the king asked, rising to his feet.

"I really hate to intrude, your highness—"

"Nonsense! A good king is one who serves his people. Besides..." he turned to face him, "I know who you are."

Link continued hesitantly, "Yes, well—"

"You think that I could not recognize the 'savior of Hyrule?'" Even if he wasn't fully aware of all Link had done for Hyrule, Zelda had informed him a great deal about it. "And then you running off before I could properly reward you for your courageous acts. Well, now that you're back, when would be most opportune for you to marry my daughter?"

"I beg your pardon, my lord?" Link asked nervously.

"Ho! Don't be ridiculous; there is no cause for alarm. I jest, young sir. Very well. What is it that demands my concern?"

"Have you time for a lengthy tale, my lord?"

"As time as the sun has left to shine, lad, have I."

"When I first left your realm, my lord, I toured the land. I traveled far until I reached a great ocean with many a port city blossoming on its sands. I worked as an apprentice in a smithy for nearly a year on that coast until the flying white sails of a sea galleon, the _Ile de Ciel_, sparked my fancy.

The sea held such passion that just couldn't be found upon the land, and I... I was consumed by it. I traded in my ranger garb for a sailor's uniform and took leave in that port town. I sailed for three and half years on that lady, the _Ile de Ciel_. But one night, on the coast of a foreign isle, she lost her bow to the churning water and her mast snapped like a twig in a giant's hand. I never saw the _Ciel_ again, nor it's crew.

But I was washed up on nearby foreign shore where I encountered a small town. I worked for a mason there, trying to earn enough wage to afford sea fair, that I might return home to Hyrule.

The night my ship was due to depart I was walking from the landing; I felt the curiousness of being pursued, but looked behind me and saw no one. I often played the ocarina your daughter gave to me—and so that evening I played the royal family's song as I sat on the empty deck behind the officers' quarters. The ship had not yet departed so there were no hands about, and being a trading vessel, there were few passengers beside myself. I decided to rest my eyes awhile, I was interrupted by tall, cloaked figure. I recognized him as the neighbor of my master, the mason. I had never spoken to him before, though I often saw him at night when I would play atop the roof of the mason's home. He stood before me and asked for what price I would sell the ocarina. I told him I could not sell it for it had been a gift, but he was rudely persistent. I refused him numerous times, until at length he struck me in anger. He tried to force it from me, but luckily I didn't even have it with me. It had been in one of the crates of the cargo hold."

"Excuse me, Link, but I'm not sure how this story pertains to me."

"You see, King Harkinian, this man did not act alone. There was a woman with him who bore a curious brand on her wrist. She had violet eyes and golden hair, much like the woman in the portrait I saw in this hall. I do not believe that the mirror likeness of these strangers is mere coincidence. And I believe, my lord, that if anyone should know why, it would be you."


	11. The Difference in Dead and Buried

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: The Difference in Dead and Buried**

"These are brave accusations, young sir, but I think I may know the identity of your assailants. You know enough already," he paused, "...maybe even more than you have revealed. Withholding what I know from you might delay you discovering the truth, but I cannot prevent it, so please, understand that this information is not to be shared with anyone."

"But what about Zelda? Shouldn't I—"

"Words spoken in this room do not leave this room," he interrupted.

"Aye, my lord."

"_Now..._ Silvanna Harkinian— Her name was Silvanna _Hylia_ before she was my wife, but I suppose that was before your time." He pointed to a commemorating tapestry on the wall above his desk. "Our marriage ended the Hylia dynasty, though she remained the reigning monarch. My one duty was to produce a legitimate heir for the kingdom of Hyrule."

"So the woman, Silvanna—she _is _Zelda's mother."

"But you figured that out when you saw her portrait, didn't you?"

Link couldn't rightfully remember the name he had read, but he did notice the family resemblance. "She could have been any member of the royal family, as far as I knew."

The king's hand fiddled with the tassels of his robes. "I'm sure you have also seen the grave."

"Not up close, but I have seen the portrait that adorns this very hall, my lord. Tales of her incomparable benevolence congest the mouths of your people, but I have seen her on _this_ side of the grave. The character that my eyes have witnessed does not match what my ears have heard."

"And so you're probably wondering why everyone believes she is dead. What criminal deed could she be guilty of that could nullify her existence in the eyes of my country? Of her own _daughter_?" The king folded his hands. "Much was thought of my queen, but little was known. She had a great weakness for delinquancy, and not with impunity could she live. Death allotted her penalty." The king's voice grew small; he held a shaking hand to the bridge of his nose. "You must understand... I loved my wife—a rare thing, but truth. I am sure that within the nub of her being she might have produced an inclination to love me as well, but not as she loved the captain of the Hylian Guard, Sir Iain Klave. By law she was to burn for her treason and he subjected to exile, but I could not bring myself to raise a hand against her nor the child she would bear."

"Zelda?"

"Aye. Zelda is not by blood my daughter, but I have raised her as my own. Because I inherited the crown by marriage only, she is the solitary heir to Hyrule's throne, whether legitimate or not. In order to protect them, Silvanna's sin was kept secret, I bid her leave after the child was born and never return. Along the back of her hand the sentencing symbol was seared so that her adulterous standing might precede herself."

Link traced his finger across his right hand, remembering Silvanna's scar. "And Klave, he went with her?"

"Yes, though the official records will say that he was killed in an accident with a loose horse in the stables or was shot by the misguided arrow of some fool's crossbow. I lost my wife and my guard's captain that day. I could not relinquish her daughter unto the same fate."

"So Iain and Zelda share the same father, and neither of them know," Link muttered. "Who else knows of this, my lord?"

"Only my closest advisor and yourself bear this secret burden, a burden that will be taken to the grave, though I ask no formal oath of you."

Thank you, my lord, for your time. This discussion has been insightful, but I have one last question for you."

"It is understandable that a man who has seen half as much confusion, would have twice as many questions."

"What do they want with the Ocarina of Time?"

"Hmm, I can't be sure, but I don't imagine they have noble intentions. Until anything further can be extracted, I wish that you would remain in my castle, Link. I dismiss you."

"Thank you, my lord." Link bowed respectfully and exited through the arches of the monstrous wooden doors.

The king collapsed into his oversized chair and closed his eyes with a frown. "What are you up to, Silvanna?" he whispered.

* * *

Link couldn't fathom what it would be like to learn you were born and raised in the shadow of a lie. How much more dismal would it be to have someone who is supposed to love you unconditionally feed you that lie? How pathetic would you feel to strive to earn a name whose legacy would bring nothing short of disgrace? He supposed it was unfortunate that Iain and Zelda would never know.

Link wandered aimlessly throughout the empty halls. A man could easily get lost without the proper map and concentration—both of which Link was woefully wanting. Or rather, he would have wanted had he been paying attention to his surroundings at all.

"Link!"

He froze in his steps. Perhaps if he made no sudden movements, he wouldn't be noticed.

"Link, I have been looking all over for you. You just ran off like that, and I was so worried, and Iain fetched the doctor and..." Zelda rambled on. Her rapid flood of words was interrupted only by the occasional insertion of breath.

Link turned around slowly. He didn't say anything. Zelda was speaking enough for a three-way conversation. A knowing smile graced his lips as he saw the powerless physician she had dragged helplessly behind her. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned his head against the wall, almost as if he were listening to her rabid scolding. He couldn't help but notice how those little curls bounced around her face when she moved, or how the of reflection of light in her eyes floated around like a firefly.

"Link?"

"Hmm?" He quickly snapped out of his sweet reverie and shook this head so that his hair fell over his eyes.

"I want the doctor to examine your head at least."

"Oh. Here." Link brushed his hair from his forehead, exposing a small patch of dried blood. The doctor squinted and traced his finger along the length of the cut, causing him to wince sharply and bite his lip.

"Oh, dear. This needs to be stitched. And I'd like to check for broken bones," the doctor suggested. Link looked at Zelda accusingly. She shrugged as if she had nothing to do with it.

"That sounds like a safe idea, but I really don't think it's necessary. I feel fine really. In fact, I think I may go jump out of another window," he teased, slinking away with a sheepish grin.

"Link. Don't. You. Even. D—" Zelda warned with a cocked eyebrow.

He took off down the hall, however, before she could even finish.

"_Li-ink! Return at once!_" she shouted as she ran after him—or as close to running as possible in a four-layered gown.

The forgotten physician stood in the middle of the hall, dumbfounded. "At least he no longer limps," he mused.


	12. There is No Shadow Without Light

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: There is No Shadow Without Light**

"How in the Sacred Realm did you get up there?"

Zelda had chased Link up and down and all over the castle grounds until it became a childish game of hide and seek, just as they played when they were younger. At last she had found him in the foyer hiding in the rafters near the chandelier.

"I climbed," he answered cheekily.

"Well come down, foolish knave, so that I might properly punish you."

"That is not much incentive for me to come down."

"Very well, I shall have to come up there and fetch you." She feigned her intentions to climb the stone support beam.

"Nay, Princess, risk not your royal neck on account of a fool. I'll come down." He sighed in defeat.

Zelda smirked at her cleverness.

Link landed on the floor with his knees bent, but before he could rise to stand the Princess wrestled him to the floor.

"Sweet Nayru! I have been captured," Link sighed, exasperated.

Zelda held him pinned to the floor with her palm against his chest. "Aye, you have," she breathed.

"And what shall be my consequence?" was his taunt.

"You must..." she paused to look up in mock thought, "You must remain here as my slave, so that when you are well and strong you carry my sedan!"

He rolled his eyes. "I told you I'm fi—." She pressed her palm firmly to his chest and pushed his rising form back against the stone floor. "Ugh! What was _that_ f—" She put her finger to his lips to silence him.

"You still have a cracked rib," she chided. Link gave her a puzzled glance.

"How do you know?"

"I did not strike you hard," she answered, lifting his shirt.

"Please, don't look at it." But his defense was too late. She ran her hand over thick bandages, exactly what she had expected to find.

"If you were fine you wouldn cringe when I did scarcely more than touch you." She pressed her hand more forcefully against his breastbone and watched him clench tight his eyelids pain.

"Goddesses! No more!" She raised an amused eyebrow. "So I am not _perfectly_ fine. But please," he struggled to calm his breathing, "Don't torment me." He pulled his shirt down.

A tender smiled graced her lips. "A hero cannot always rely on his own strength." She withdrew her hand from his chest, at a rate that might have been read as suggestive. He watched her hand recoil. "I do not do this to torment you."

"I apologize for not detecting a more amiable motive," he teased. He picked himself off the floor with renewed strength.

"I mean it, Link." He sensed a serious quality in her voice that made him close his mouth and open his ears. She continued, "I care for you infinitely. That's actually what I meant to talk to you about earlier. I came to apologize and—"

"There is nothing to forgive, Zelda. I know it was outright offensive to kiss you. I shouldn't have put that kind of pressure on you. It is I that require your forgiveness."

The silence devoured their words. Zelda stared at him with a question in her eyes and a confidence in her heart, both of which to hide her tears. "So you regret it?"

"Kissing you?"

"Yes, do you regret kissing me? Has it proved too much trouble for you? Was it worth it?"

She seemed upset, the kind of upset that girls often express for no rational reason other than to trip you up. He knew he must choose his answer carefully, for if he said no, he would seem impudent, and if he said yes, he would seem to not care as deeply for her as he truly did.

Finally he answered, "I regret only that which would not please you." That was the safe answer, but it did not satisfy her.

Pleading tears glistened in her eyes. "Don't be so concerned about what pleases me, Link, or how will I ever know what you want at all? Didn't you tell me to be honest? Well, so should you. I wish for your happiness too, you know, and I fear you will not find it here."

To be happy? She wanted him_ to be happy_? How was it that she could not see that it was she, his life, his love, that was the sole object of his happiness, of which her stubbornness was his only challenge? It was with better judgment that his mind restrained his tongue from uttering such thoughts.

He took her gloved hand in his and leaned in close to her, almost as if to kiss her. But instead he rested his cheek against hers and whispered in her ear, "Then let me choose that which bestows my happiness." He kissed her hand gently and left with just as much grace, turning only to say, "I retire."

She watched him turn down the stone corridor, saying nothing and scarcely breathing.

Iain was right. She did feel for him, but she was afraid. He wished he had known it before so that he might have distilled her uncertainty, but the rejection of her lips had deprived him of reason. He knew he must confess to her the true nature of his feelings, that they were unmatched by any other love, and that no exploit could unbind him from the clasp of her heart.

Walking back to his room, he considered how he would tell Zelda. He knew it must be as soon as possible. If he had known what to say at that moment he would have told her, but his mind needed time to translate into words what only his heart could express.

As Link entered his room he saw one loose drape wavering in the evening's breeze. The shadow of the sunset clothed the ivory curtain in hues of gold and violet. He thought of her and smiled.

* * *

Outside the highest west tower, which housed the princess's royal bed chambers, far from the view of Link's second floor room of the smaller southwest tower, two animated shadows conversed.

These shadows were those of two figures, though from this could not be extracted by their appearance due to the concealment of their billowing cloaks. Together they stood, side by side amid the bodies of two dead guards.

The masculine voice whispered to the female, "There were only two men posted here. Are you sure this is the right tower?"

The feminine voice replied, "There are more up there." She gestured towards the parapets of the walls adjacent to the tower and rampart overhead. "And I am quite certain _this_ is the tower. ...It once was mine."

The tone of her voice assured him, as well his memory of having climbed the tower before.

"We should wait here a bit longer," he said in a low voice, "until there is complete darkness. There will be no moon tonight, and the wind is blowing the clouds this way."

"They cannot spot us from where we are, and if we remain unheard, we will be unseen."

There was a long silence before he whispered. "That is where we would meet, is it not?" He pointed to a small group of trees several meters to the right.

"Indeed. It is."


	13. Picking Up the Shards

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: Picking Up the Shards**

Link tiptoed, stopped abruptly, listened, and resumed as quietly as he could. Not even the crickets had stayed up this late. Only one light was still burning.

It was hers.

For hours he had sat in his room. He entertained himself with several melodies on his ocarina, praying to the goddesses for inspiration. He mused over the proper words in his head repeatedly, until at last he found the courage to express them. It had grown late in the evening, maybe even morning, but he could not wait until sunrise to see her.

He placed a shaking hand over the brass handle, breathed, smoothed his other hand over the sanded panels of her door, and breathed once more. He breathed as if he were about to leap into Lake Hylia in his iron boots.

He knocked timidly, half-expecting no answer, and was surprised to hear soft footsteps from within. The door's hinges screeched dryly until the wooden frame was replaced by a pair of violet eyes.

She touched him with her eyes, reaching beyond his flesh and into his very soul.

"Zelda."

She wiped her eyes groggily. "Why do you call on me so late?"

"Did I wake you?"

"No, I was—well, yes. I had fallen asleep over a book."

"I'm sorry. I just..." The touch of her eyes had rendered him speechless. "May I..."

"Come in." she finished. She held the door open, issuing for him to come inside and nonchalantly checking the hall for curious eyes. Seeing none, she shut the door behind her.

"Zelda, this cannot wait. I had to speak with you."

"Well, I could only assume," she teased, but with humor absent in her voice.

He grasped her gently by the arms, keeping his eyes locked on hers. But as soon as he opened his mouth to speak he could no longer hold them there. "I cannot keep this from you any longer," he began, "I think I understand now why you have been treating me so strangely. I thought at first you suspected I had feelings for you, but you already had replaced your feelings for me with someone else."

"What?" she asked, surprised by his frankness,"No, I—"

"I know, Zelda. I know I was wrong, but the truth is, I do have feelings for you. I always have." He bowed his head so that it was nearly level with hers. "If my intentions have ever been unclear to you, know now that it is you whom I love."

She looked up from her hand and gazed incredulously into his eyes, searching for any flaw in his expression that might display insincerity, but she could find none.

"Don't say that," she pleaded, taking her hand from him. She was afraid his statement would be followed by a nullifying conjunction.

"I can't _not_ say it. I must, even if you don't return those feelings—though if I didn't at least suspect you did, I doubt I would have the courage to tell you—but if I didn't tell you, I would be stuck in this game of being drawn to you and then having you push me away because you're afraid I would get too close and eventually hurt you again." He exhaled. "Correct me if I'm wrong."

The Princess was without words.

Link continued, "I don't expect anything from you, but I thought about what you said—about being honest, and you were right. I thought if I left the decision in your hands—if I left it up to you whether I should go or stay—then I wouldn't have the responsibility of hurting either of us, and I wouldn't have to ask myself what I really wanted. I'm so very sorry. It was unfair of me to put so much on you. I was afraid you would reject me again, especially since you ran off after we kissed." He sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't want that to sound like an excuse. Believe me, I know it's not. That's why I'm here."

Zelda stared at him tearfully. Neither knew what more to say. She embraced him and wept against his chest. She didn't want to speak; she just wanted to be held. He stroked her hair.

"Oh Zelda... Those five years ago, I had to leave. There was nothing here to fulfill me. I was your favorite, and that was the only reason why your father took pity on me. I did not feel as though I earned my place of honor. I did not fit my armor. I had to grow up first... and that is why I had to go. We were so young I could not even fathom the consequences of my actions. I was a fool to leave you like that. Forgive me. I should have at least said goodbye. I wish I could undo it... but I am merely a man, Zelda, capable of and often subject to folly."

He held her tighter.

She looked up from his shoulder. "I... forgive you," she spoke quietly, "I guess I was afraid to need you again."

"You're not at fault for that."

"Aye, I don't imagine there is a fault. I guess you leaving gave us both the time to grow into our armor." She smiled weakly. "It made me realize how I had taken you for granted, an error I shall not make twice." She brushed the stray strands of hair from his eyes. "I love you, Link."

He placed his worn hands against her shoulders. "Let me kiss you again," he muttered.

He took her chin in his hand and caressed her unyielding lips with his own. Her gentle mouth was crushed by his demanding lips, and his calloused hands were coarse against her face, but she returned his kiss with the same desire.

And it was in this one moment, when no other thoughts or feelings existed outside that room, that two hearts began to heal. They could forget yesterday, tomorrow was intangible, and all that subsisted, all that mattered, was now.

Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled away. She opened her eyes and exhaled, resting her forehead against his as he thumbed away the tears that threatened to defile her flawless face.

* * *

Outside Zelda's room there was darkness. Darkness isn't generally thought of an object in itself, but more like an _absence_ thereof. There was something different about this kind of darkness. It seemed to be alive.

The two figures stood, silent as the stone upon which they leaned. They waited for the candles to be extinguished, for the voices to cease. Whispering with their eyes rather than their lips, they inched towards the window with nimble feet along a thin border of stone that protruded from the castle's defenses. The voices became hushed until only silence was left to toil with the paling candles' shadows. The click of a door and the patter of footsteps suggested that they should prepare themselves. The candle flickered once more before it extinguished into nothingness, resigning to absolute darkness.

Now all they could do was wait. In this time of night ten minutes may seem like ten hours, or in the blink of an eye it could be morning. An unknown amount of time passed. The hazy grayness revealed that it was not but a few hours before dawn.

The female figure, slender and clothed in midnight, peered with a circumspect eye around the corner of the window and through a rift in its thick drapery. Her gaze fell upon the four-poster bed with translucent curtains drawn around an elaborate canopy and the motionless silhouette within. She dropped a pebble on the floor and listened. There was no movement. She nodded to the man next her, motioning for him to edge closer.

She looked at her partner, at his expressionless face. He seemed lost in thought, or perhaps lost in doubt. She brushed his dark brown hair from his face, causing him to glance up at her. His skin was scarred, but still smooth. She leaned to whisper in his ear but let her breath tickle his neck before speaking.

"Remember why we are here," she whispered. She stepped soundlessly over the windowsill with the help of two strong arms that held fast to her waist. She in turn helped him through the three-foot opening, dragging him by the shirt. They crept closer, embracing the disguising night. The thin curtain of Zelda's canopy was slipped opened with agile fingers.

Her wrists were bound and her ankles roped. One monstrous hand held closed her dainty mouth. Her eyes shot open.

One taunting voice echoed, "Good morning, Princess."


	14. Befit for a Crown

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: Befit for a Crown  
**

Silence—a sound that screamed from the edge of a knife. It was the thunderous palpitations of her heart. Silence was the sound of Zelda's blood freezing over with trepidation.

"Good morning, Princess."

The woman's voice was dark and soft, but not threatening. It did not mock her. Two eyes stared at her, but they did not glare. They were not condescending.

"Silvanna! Put down the damn knife!" another, deeper voice whispered harshly.

Silvanna dropped the knife. It fell to the floor with strange metallic thud. She would not need it. It was only meant to cut the rope when necessary.

His voice reverted to a more reserved tone. "I shall let you go if you would promise not to scream. You must stay quiet. Perfectly silent. Can you assure me of that?

The princess nodded, too terrified even to whimper. He looked expectantly at Silvanna, but she seemed preoccupied with her thoughts. She felt uncomfortable addressing Zelda, so she let her partner do the talking. He had always been an eloquent speaker with a silver tongue and honeysuckle lips. She deeply contemplated her lover's lips.

"Do you know who I am, Princess Zelda?"

She just shook her head, afraid to speak. But she knew she had seen those eyes before. They were brown like lacquer and stained with green like... Iain's eyes.

"My name is Iain Klave, and this—"

Her eyes widened at the mention of his name. "You're Iain's father? Everyone thinks you're dead!" He tightly clamped shut her delicate jaw.

"Shh! Aye, aye. I know that. But I'm here, see? I'm alive."

"But what do you want from _me_?"

"You see this woman?" Klave motioned toward Silvanna. "She is my wife. We have come to retrieve what was unlawfully taken from us. "

Silvanna was not pleased to look at Zelda. This was her daughter, a daughter that had been taken from her since birth, a child that she had never had the privilege to set her tired eyes upon. She was lovely, in near resemblance of herself in her youth. But it was painful to look upon her, the literal embodiment of her crime. It enraged her that her rightful heir should grow up in ignorance of her own blood. A motley fool, King _Harkinian_, disgraced her throne. Her silent indigination might have boiled into violence had she not comforted herself with the promise of rewriting her life.

"Do you have in your possession an ocarina?" Klave asked Zelda.

Zelda could not make sense of why Iain's father would want an ocarina, but felt it was practical knowledge not to question a man with a knife.

"Aye. There is one in the second drawer of that dressing table." Zelda nodded toward the vanity across the room where Impa brushed her hair every morning.

Klave opened the drawer and found the ocarina. It was Link's fairy ocarina. Zelda had never returned it, and he had never asked for it back, so she kept it.

"This isn't the one, Silvanna. This is not the Ocarina of Time. The boy must have it."

Silvanna saw that it was indeed, not the Ocarina of Time. "Was it stolen?" she demanded, glowering at Zelda.

"Nay, I entrusted it to a brave young man who—" but Zelda was not allowed to finish. She wanted to say that he had saved Hyrule and was worthy of the honor of keeping such a treasure as the Ocarina of Time, but Silvanna didn't care.

She interrupted, "You're right, Klave. The boy must still have it."

Klave turned from the dresser and asked Zelda, "Do you know where this young man is?"

Of course Zelda knew where Link was. She had seen him just the night before, but she was still unsure of how to answer Klave's question. If Zelda revealed where Link was, what would they do to him? Link would die before he let them take the Ocarina of Time, and surely they would not simply leave when he refused them. On the other hand, she also knew it was unwise to lie to a man with a knife. What a baffling conundrum. It was likewise inadvisable to trust those who have snuck into your bedroom, tied you to your own bed, and threatened your life. That was certain. There was only one way Zelda knew that would allow her to neither lie nor tell the truth at once, and in this she was quite resolved.

She did not answer.

* * *

In the southwest tower Link slept no more peacefully than Zelda. How could he sleep? His thoughts of her rebuked his fatigue. He reflected on all that had passed between them that evening. She knew that he loved her, and he knew that his sentiments were mutual. It flooded him with relief to be so open with her. He knew well, however, that because of his standing, it was unlikely for him to be selected as a suitor. Although he was officially nobility, as he had been knighted by the king, his diplomacy was sorrowfully inadequate compared to his military experience. He was not befitting of a crown.

Still, Link found himself content. It might be unlawful to marry her, to make love to her or otherwise engage in expressions of affection, but no law could bar him from feeling as he did for her. If he could have the privilege to serve her until the end of his life, he would be well satisfied. He loved her too much to dissuade her from her conscience.

He had laid awake for two and a half hours, competing in an undeclared staring contest with the ceiling beams. After much internal dispute, he decided to take a walk. It was a fierce tournament, but alas the ceiling was victorious.

Link found himself subconsciously wandering down the corridor to Zelda's room. He shook his head and continued on past the door. It would be discourteous to wake her and preposterous to enter a lady's chamber without her consent or invitation.

Instead he carried himself to the scarlet-carpeted foyer where the first traces of dawn were steadily creeping through low-hanging windows. Numerous guards lined the walls. You could scarcely tell whether there was a person inside such ridiculous armor, let alone whether they were conscious or not. Link chuckled to himself at the thought of tipping one over. Ah yes, today would be a good day. He would make sure of it.

He waved cheerily to the sentinels, though they were as lively as the stone pillars they resembled. He tugged open one of two oversized doors. He ran a lazy hand through his long blonde hair and pressed the other against a sharp pain in his ribs that seemed to appear whenever he breathed too heavily. No matter. He soon regained his composure, and even began to whistle a certain lullaby as he walked.

Then, as if the goddesses meant to mock his happiness, he stumbled and fell. The whistled tune abruptly halted.

A minor disturbance, Link rose again to his feet. Looking behind him, he found the offending object that had momentarily stolen his equilibrium, surprised that it was in fact a man's arm. Even more suprising was that upon further exploration of the surrounding shrubbery, there was yet a man attached to thus arm! It appeared that this man, clearly a castle guard, had been slain and his body hidden in the hedge—or that seemed to be the culprit's intent, though neither act had been done successfully, since the arm was protruding from its body's hiding place, and its mouth groaned weakly.

Link hastily recovered the man, dragging his ghastly form forth from its leafy grave. Thy dying guard gasped as if trying to speak.

"What is it, man? What happened here?" Link asked.

The guard choked, "There... were two." He wheezed, but continued, "We...st... tower..."

The west tower.

_Zelda._

**A/n:** (1) "A motley fool disgraced her throne." - Because King Harkinian recieved his kingdom only by his marriage to Silvanna, she thinks of him as a fool who as stolen her throne.


	15. The Arisen Darkness

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: The Arisen Darkness**

"Go... _go_..." the dying guard rasped. The man looked up at Link with dire and imploring eyes.

Though Link did not wish that the valiant soldier should die alone, he need not be reminded twice of his obligation to protect the princess. Link wasted no time. He did not know who it was, but he imagined it, and it made him ill.

* * *

Klave picked up the dagger from the floor. "Tell us, Princess. Where is this young man?" Klave's voice remained soft, as he cut the fetters that bound her limbs. He sat down on her bed. Zelda remained silent. "If you're frightened by this," he spoke, holding up his knife, "I could away with it, or even lob it out that window if you like." He smiled and bid Silvanna put it away. It was a sincere smile, not meant to merely woo her from her security of silence. It revealed a certain tenderness within him.

His gentleness eased her, and brought to her face a hesitant smile as well.

"It was not meant to harm you," he added, referring to the blade. "Forgive our former harshness. We did not intend to distress you any further than could not otherwise be avoided." He looked up at Silvanna, but her expression was impassive. "Princess, it is of utmost importance that we locate the Ocarina of Time. It is for your own benefit."

"Even if I tell you, he would not—"

But Zelda didn't need to speak another word, for it was at that moment that Link's location was revealed of his own oblivious accord. He knocked furiously upon her door.

"Zelda...?_ Zelda!_" The volume of his call was obstructed by the door, but its urgency was proportionally augmented.

No one spoke or stirred. He forced open the door, his sword already drawn. It swung open so fiercely that it hit the adjacent wall and swung closed once more. He did not even look upon the faces of the defendants before he spoke.

"If you lay so much as one detestable digit on her, I swear, I shall gut you from navel to nostril, and your entrails shall be my boot laces."

Lightning flashed in the young man's eyes, thunder clapped with the sound of steel on cold, unfeeling steel. He drew his sword skillfully, but his opponent had not been made the captain of the Hylian Army for showmanship alone. He blocked the blow with unmatched agility. Fire burned within the cavity of his chest and in his eyes with the incandescence of a thousand stars. Link's eyes met his. It was like looking through a window into hell. This was Sir Iain Klave. This was Zelda's father.

Klave scoffed in rebuttal, "Such brave words from a hollow coward. You have fallen to me once before."

True, but Link could have argued the fairness of being roused from sleep with sword at your throat or being sniped from behind by a hidden opponent, but he didn't. His determination only intensified. He drop-rolled out of the way of Klave's lumbering swing and struck him from behind. It was not a lethal strike, but it gained him some respect. Klave responded immediately with another broad stroke. He heard Zelda scream. Had Link not dodged a moment sooner it might have taken off his head. It merely scratched his cheek instead.

"Silvanna! Get her out of here!" He knew one of them would die and it was not his desire for his daughter to see it.

Each man watched the other, blades raised defensively. It was a morbid sort of dance.

"Young fool," Klave continued, "I shall spare you if you would but return the misgiven object."

"I shall not yield," Link answered sternly, "The Ocarina of Time shall not be taken from me so long as I may live to hold it."

"I do not desire to end you life, boy. I do not lust for blood, but if that be your resolution, I shall do as I must." With the force of a Goron hammer Klave brought down his weapon upon the young man.

* * *

There it was again. That sound. Iain knew he couldn't just be hearing things or entertaining obscure fancies. Yes, it was clearly someone yelling among some other unimaginable raucous—yelling from where? At such an hour? But it was so clear, so plain, so... down the hall.

"The Princess!" he gasped. In only a few swift steps he overtook the door to Zelda's room, the source of the proposed calamity of which his senses had so faithfully betrayed.

The wooden frame, in spite of its elaborate design, was no match for the strength of a royal guard. But a royal guard was no match for the ghastly scene that unfolded before him.

* * *

Link leaped to the side of the blow that would have otherwise cut him clean in half. What he lacked in brute strength, he made up for in nimbleness. Unfortunately, he moved faster than some of his more important cognitive processes, such as choosing a wise direction of movement. His back was to the door—the same door that Iain came crashing through, unaware of who stood behind it.

Link's unsuspecting body was battered like a medieval siege weapon into the princess's chamber wall. He slumped to the welcoming sanctuary of the cold stone floor and felt warm blood running over his lips as he drifted into unconsciousness.

Sensing the unusual crunch of the slamming door, Iain looked over his shoulder at the accident he had caused. There was no time to attend the hero now, however, as the knight diverted his attention to the intruders. Silvanna had gagged the princess and was trying to lead her out the window. Klave lowered his weapon.

"You..." Iain whispered, trembling, "You were... dead." It was as though his father's bodiless ghost stood before him.

"Iain, if my eyes do not deceive me? Goddesses, you are fast becoming of your father's semblance, which as you now witness, is hardly deceased."

"How is this...?" Iain asked, fearful of the true answer.

"My son, shouldn't you be gladdened your father's return?"

His tone hardened from shock to anger. "You deceived me. You abandoned my mother!"

"Well, Iain," he defended, appalled, "There were certain, necessary sacrifices to be made—"

"You may not be dead," his son interjected, "But you shall be directly!"

Iain swung his sword deftly against his enemy, but his blows were parried with equal precision and strength.

"I wondered why they never found your body," Iain seethed. He rotated into his next attack, but Klave's sword was already raised in defense. "Now it has proven to be yet quite attached to its spirit, eh?"

Iain could see that his father did not act offensively, but he was determined to both avenge his mother's honor and rescue his princess. If he refused to fight, then defeating him would then be a matter wearing down his defenses until he could deal the fatal blow.

"And why there was no memorial of your name," he continued, "And why the court would whisper when it was mentioned." Iain grew increasingly aggressive as his fury increased. "And why mother cried when I spoke your name—Oh, I had heard the rumors, but it never occurred to me to heed them—til now!"

Iain struck repeatedly, harder and faster, like lightning in a thunderstorm. Again and again, his fury rained down on his father like hail falling from the sky. Klave's defending arm slowed. Each deflection of his blade grew weaker until at last his knees could not suffer another. His shoulder was struck. His sword fell from his hands as he sank to his knees. Iain held his sword against his father's neck; the steel was an alloy of pain and hatred that was also reflected in his face.

"Come now, Iain," he pleaded nervously, "Do be reasonable. Remember I am your own blood, your father?"

"I have none to call father. Now stand, so that I might have the pleasure of killing you with dignity!" Iain raised his sword above his head as if to kill his victim in one clean blow, but froze suddenly as an arrow penetrated his armor between his chest and his shoulder. A second struck him in the neck, and then another in his side.

"Silvanna! What did you do? _Why?_" his father cried, turning towards her.

She was perched over the side of the window. Zelda was an unconscious heap on the floor beside her. "He would have killed you, Klave," she defended casually, "You should be thanking me." Silvanna was unfamiliar with the phrase, "Blood is thicker than water," perhaps because to her, there was no difference.

The young knight choked and spat blood from his lips. Wounds such as those leave little time for retaliation, however, with a gasping breath and the coughing of blood, he pulled his father towards him from behind and slit his throat.

Iain pulled the arrow from his side, knowing his wounds were fatal. He saw that other guards, hearing the commotion, were now present. He caught the blood dripping off his chin with one hand and held his bleeding body with the other. One guard was speaking to him, though he could not understand him. The world had become a blur. The only sound was a cacophony of violent deaths. Three other guards were escorting Silvanna, not in the manner of a guest.

"Take her... before the king." His vitality collapsed upon itself as he become one with the dust of the floor.


	16. Insurrection

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: Insurrection**

The guards left with the dismissal of the king's hand. The echo of their metallic footsteps lingered in the hall, obtruding the strange new silence. Silvanna could read from the king's unsurprised expression that her return been anticipated. His pensive frown proved that it had also been unwelcome. He motioned for her to come forward.

"Defend yourself, Silvanna. You have always been a woman of reasons."

She paced in front of him. "Is it so wrong to return home?"

"This is not your home," Harkinian interrupted.

Ignoring his comment, Silvanna continued. "You know why I have come," she sneered, "I want my daughter, and I want my kingdom. I want my life. The Ocarina will give that back to me."

The king looked at Silvanna like a spoiled child who asks her father for a pony. After this brief glace, he turned his head away, finding the dirt under his fingernails to be more enthralling than this particular conversation.

"No, Silvanna. You won't have it," he said, sighing in quiet complacency.

Silvanna's calm expression was replaced by one of utter rage. "No?" she began, "_No?_ I am _Queen_, you faux-faced miscreant!"

"You are not Queen, but a treasonous _wench_!" he reproached her, rising to his feet.

"I have not committed treason against myself," she smugly chided.

Every chord of patience within the king's being instantly snapped. He came at her and held her by her wrists. "In this realm, treason is against the kingdom, and I am the kingdom!" he shouted, pressing the back of her hand to her face. "You have worn this scar for nearly twenty years, Silvanna. Don't pretend you don't know what it means!"

Her face betrayed her feelings of fear against the will of her arrogance. The king saw her fear, and his anger melted into grief.

"Why, Silvanna, why? You know it means death," he lamented. He loosened the strong grip on her arms, almost as if to embrace her. The king did not lie when he said he loved her.

"Not mine," she whispered, plunging Klave's dagger into the heart of her former lord.

* * *

The world for Zelda was a discordance of colors and of sounds. Slowly her vision began to focus and her sense of awareness returned to her. Her eyes then focused on the face above her.

"Impa?" she called weakly. The woman was leaning over her, fanning her face with a delicate wooden fan.

"Aye, milady? How are you feeling?" she asked, placing the fan next to her.

Zelda sat up, massaged her forehead and groaned. "Dreadful," she answered, "What happened?"

"Why, you went into shock, milady. You fainted. Sir Iain was..."

Impa's words were drowned out by Zelda's memories returning to her. She conjured thoughts of Silvanna and Klave, Link and Iain, and blood everywhere. She startled Impa by grabbing her by the arms. "Is Iain all right?"

"I'm sorry, milady. Sir Iain is dead."

Zelda raised a trembling hand to her mouth. "That man and that woman... did they kill him? Where are they now?"

"The man is dead, and the other is awaiting sentence, milady. I'm sorry, but she was..." Zelda looked up at her inquisitively. "She was arrested by two guards for..." Impa could not look Zelda in the eye. "...the assassination of King Harkinian. His closest advisor suggests it was an attempt to usurp the throne." She hugged Zelda in consolation. "I grieve with you, milady."

Zelda her wide vacuous eyes stared into space. "She killed them both?"

"No one knows for sure what happened to Sir Iain, milady. Sir Link and yourself were the only witnesses."

_Link._

"Oh Impa, where is he?"

Impa was again taken aback by the princess's sudden emotional outburst. "I believe the guards took him below to be questioned." She saw that Zelda intended to find him. "Oh, but milady, please, stay and rest awhile."

"No, Impa. I must go to him."

Zelda weaved through the mass chaos that had formally been her palace and home. She raced down the stone staircase. The scenery grew more putrid with every step downward. Every inch grew increasingly similar to dungeon that waited for her at the base of the stair. The princess had never been in a dungeon before. She hesitantly unbolted the black iron lock and mentally prepared herself for the gruesomeness that was rumored to lie within.

The repulsive stench made her stomach ill. With one hand lifting her skirts, she used the other to hold a kerchief to her nose through which she could breath. A guard who caught sight of her bowed clumsily. He had never seen the princess before.

"Excuse me, sir," she addressed him, "I must see Sir Link."

The poor soul was too bewildered to speak. He merely pointed her in the general direction.

Zelda turned around the corridor she had been directed to, finding a row of ramshackle cells, most of them empty. A few contained dark masses of filth and presumably prisoners. The only source of illumination was a few dying torches and cracks in the walls. The largest crack had roughly half the diameter of croquet ball. To new arrivals it served as a window to fresh air and sunlight. To veterans it was a taunting reminder of an outside world.

She heard the whistle of somber tune several cells down and followed it to the end of the corridor. She stopped at the very last cell and peered through the bars of iron. The light from the large crack created a beam of light, which revealed Link's now scruffy and matted locks of golden hair. He did not notice her. He was huddled against the wall, tracing his finger on the floor.

"Link," she called. He looked up at her. She could then see the blood that had dripped down his face and shirt, mixed with sweat and dirt, and his hair plastered around his face and against his neck. His clothes were torn. His eyes were lifeless.

He turned his face away from her. "You shouldn't be here."

"I had to see you," she explained. "There are things I must know."

"Guard!" she yelled to the warden. The ungainly guard she had met before came quickly to her aid. "Sir, please unlock this door."

"Ye-ye-yes, ye-your high-ne-ness," he replied, fumbling with the rather large set of keys. The hinges screeched open and the princess stepped inside.

"You may leave," she said to the guard. He attempted to thank her before slinking back to his post.

Zelda approached Link tentatively. He refused to look at her. Shame would not let him. "They brought me down here for questioning and threw me in here. I tried to tell them I had nothing to do with Iain's death, but they said they couldn't do anything about it until you were awake." He felt her hand on his cheek and he momentarily reveled in her touch.

"It's all right now. I'll explain what happened," she assured him, "Only, I would like to know how you seemed to know them."

Link sighed. "Very well. I shall tell you what I can." He nervously folded his hands together. "I sailed on the vessel, _the Ile de Ciel_, for almost four years then one night I had a dream... of you. We were older, before you sent us back in time. It was when we parted. And while I dreamed that night, there was a terrible storm. I had been ill so that I was below deck. The ship was ripped apart. I do not recall how I even survived, but when I again saw light, I lay on some foreign shore, pieces of the ship all around, but none of the crew. I was so lost." Link paused a moment to reflect, and then continued, "I was armed with nothing but my sword and the ocarina you gave to me. I often played it and thought of you."

Zelda smiled, but said nothing and motioned for him to continue.

"I took up masonry in a town there. That is how I met Iain Klave."

"The man in my room, Iain's father?" And hers also, though he did not say it.

"Aye, the same. He was my master's neighbor. I did not speak to him, though I often saw him."

"And that woman—she was his wife?"

Link shrugged. He couldn't tell her. "I don't know," was all he said.

"They were the ones who nearly slain me, and the reason why I returned to you so near to death. They wanted the Ocarina of Time, so that they might..." He paused.

"So that they might... what?"

He did not know how to explain their intentions. "I don't know exactly, Zelda, but there must have been something in time that they wanted to change."

"It's funny. I don't understand how Iain's father would know about the Ocarina of Time. It's a family secret." The princess puzzled over it for a moment and asked, "Is that why you thought that one of them who attacked you was of the royal family?"

He never told Zelda about the portrait of her mother he had seen in the king's hall, and he meant to keep it that way. "Yes, though I don't suppose it matters now."

"Yes, I guess there are greater things to be concerned about, like what will happen to Hyrule now. She killed my father, Link." She did not cry, but her voice ached with sorrow. She threw her arms around him and buried her face into the crook of his neck. "It is all so muddled now. How did it become so?"

"Milady, Princess Zelda," a young man's voice interrupted. The messenger bowed respectfully. "Your presence is demanded at the sentencing."


	17. In Actions and in Truth

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: In Actions and in Truth**

In spite of all Man's absurd notions, of all his destruction, his benevolence, his hatred, his apathy and his wickedness, there is but one weakness—which is often wrought against him if his conscience is whole—of which his humanity inclines him to be ultimately defeated. This weakness, so terrible in wonder, is the human tear.

This tear fell freely from Silvanna's eye, like her heart fell the night she had been banished. It fell in a drop from her face, rolled off her chin and splashed onto her bare foot like her shattering heart onto the wooden scaffold. The shards bit her ankles.

Sessions of the Royal Court were traditionally held under open air so as to not inconvenience the executioner with the burden of suspense. There the miscreant could be tried and, if necessary, executed by means of hanging, beheading, or—as was the customary punishment for treason—burning.

A veranda had been built before Harkinian's time in order to shelter the three podiums of the justices as well as the gallery where the nobility and courtiers would serve as an audience. But above the scaffold, there was no roof. The wooden platform, where the accused would stand, rested before the podiums of justice and was surrounded by the gallery on three sides. Above the justices, there was a small balcony, which seated the presiding royal authority. At this proceeding, the youthful Princess presided. Link sat faithfully behind her.

Silvanna shivered in her bare feet and the gray cotton dress she had been made to wear. Her possessions had been confiscated.

The head justice's voice bellowed, "Prisoner, state your name."

"I have had so many, my lord, that I no longer know." The gallery muttered and scoffed.

"The one you were given at birth, prisoner."

"Hylia."

The gallery was silent, except for hushed whispers. The justices exchanged skeptical glances. Had they heard correctly?

"Utter not such falsehoods, prisoner. All bearers of that name are extinct."

Had the setting of this trial taken place years before, the former queen would have been immediately recognized, but there were few now at the court that would have known her even if her appearance had remained unchanged. She had practically been a child herself when Zelda was born, not yet even nineteen. The only remembrance Hyrule had now of the queen was her grave and several portraits from her youth. Her golden hair no longer shown so brilliantly; her bright eyes were now dull and her skin not so soft or fair.

The head justice grew impatient. "I shall ask you once more to state your name of birth."

"If I have not yet given my lords sufficient answer, then none shall suffice."

"Very well." He signed, vexed. "The prisoner is charged with treason against the court of Hyrule for the assassination of our lord, the King Harkinian. How does the prisoner plead to these charges?"

"The prisoner denies them not." Her voice was low, but confident.

Surprised by the prisoner's plea, he glanced to his left and right, receiving assenting nods from both, and he continued, "The prisoner has been found guilty of her crime. If she has any final words before her sentence, she may speak them now."

For a moment she did not speak. Death was inevitable, and she mentally prepared herself for it. With all the eloquence and royal fluency she could muster, she projected her voice.

"My lords..." She then turned to the gallery. "Gentle nobles of Hyrule... I was born a slave—a slave discontented! But I have already taken mine own life, nigh twenty years since, so there is nothing you can take from me. _Nothing_. Nothing but pride beats within this breast, and _that_ no mortal can touch! _Pride!_ That _I_, Silvanna Hylia, refused the shackles of my inheritance! That I _spat_ in the face of oppression! For this, I stand before you. For love of a man, I stand before you! For vengeance against the one who raped my soul, I stand before you! Because I chose to have lived a life, I have been damned! Would not one among you have done the same? Who would not die for such as this! For Silvanna Harkinian is cold in her grave, my lords! But Hylia yet lives, and shall hereafter!"

All was still and silent, save Silvanna's labored breath and a gentle wind that caressed her hair.

"The Royal Judiciary sentences the prisoner to burn." The gallery, fast becoming a mob, exploded with jeers of approval. They affirmed she was a mad and treasonous woman with verbal torches and pitchforks. The lesser justice to the right calmed the gallery.

The head justice added, "_Unless_, her royal majesty, the crowned princess, should have the desire to pardon such lunacy?"

The stake had already been prepared on the grounds outside the castle, and every eye in the court looked to Zelda. Silvanna's expression was likewise fixed upon her daughter, not with imploring eyes that pleaded for mercy, but with stolid willfulness.

Only Link, who sat with her on the balcony, saw her shudder.

Zelda was overwhelmed by the woman's fiery words and the intensity of her gaze. She was forced to look away. The princess had only ever attended a trial twice at the Royal Court. On neither occasion was the accused put to death. Her father was a forgiving man.

"Link?" She spoke softly so that none below could listen.

"I am here." He touched her hand. It was cold with fear.

"Who is this woman, Link? Why does she speak such things?" Only Link knew, but he could not say. "What if this is not madness? What if this is my mother?"

"Your mother is dead, Zelda, and in any case, it wouldn't matter. Remember the nature of her crime. The law cares about the color of her blood."

"But is it right to condemn her?" The princess couldn't help but understand a woman whose misdeeds were an extension of her desire to live a normal life, whose position as an heiress to the throne enslaved her, and whose damnation was a result of breaking those chains. There was a part of Zelda that even envied her and her freedom. She asked Link shyly, "Wouldn't you do such things for love?"

"For love, Zelda, but not this." His eyes looked at her with an intensity that could pierce one's soul. "Love is selfless. It does not take part in such vileness. It was but lust and foolhardy pride that drove her."


	18. Fait Accompli

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: Fait Accompli **

Zelda rose from her velvet chair and stood at the edge of the balcony, her arms resting at her sides. She clenched her fists so tightly that her fingers turned white. She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, calming herself.

Was this mad woman her mother? She did not know. For eighteen years her mother had been dead to her. She did not know why. She could not even fathom why. But she sympathized with a woman who could not act of her own free will. Had she not spoken the same words? She had said to Impa, "Royalty are simply slaves dressed in silk with full stomachs."

She felt so strangely connected with her, as if burning her alive would prematurely cremate a part of Zelda as well. Silvanna was wayward and headstrong, her actions rooted in eccentricity and romantic idealism. Within Zelda's substance of being there was a comparable inclination to sentimentality and emotional bias in allotting judgment and decision-making. A woman's heart is a fickle organ, and she knew that to follow it unrestrained by reason would be but folly. In order to promote a contrary pattern of impartial thinking, Zelda deemed it necessary to cut from her breast the half of her heart responsible for her foolish propensities. This amputation would be manifest in the execution of Silvanna Hylia Harkinian.

It was with courage, the courage of her loyal guardian and hero, that her wisdom was secured.

"It must be done," she whispered. Link stood behind her as she rose. "The crown..." her voice emanated, "does not grant pardon unto the prisoner."

The gallery erupted once more into mob-like disorder in favor of the princess's decision. It had been so long since they had witnessed an execution. Their march to the stake was a river of unruly pomp, a tributary of the imagination of revolutionaries.

She glanced over her shoulder at Link, searching for his approval. His expression replied on behalf of his lips. His brows were furrowed slightly as he nodded his consent. He sat so motionless that he scarcely appeared to breathe. He was a man of naturally reserved expression. Only upon severe provocation did he act. Whether in anger, displeasure, or even love, his heart was not easily read, but at that moment Zelda knew there was something unsettling brooding behind his eyes.

A young guard approached and bowed. "You might have a better view of the execution from the south tower, milady."

"I do not wish to see it," she replied curtly.

"Very well, milady. I have for you a message from the chancellor. At your convenience, he desires to hold council with yourself and the royal advisors."

"Inform him that I shall be with him in a moment."

"Aye, milady." He bowed in veneration and shuffled off. Zelda intended to follow, but dress first, as the morning's events had left her yet in her nightgown and robe. She felt quite ridiculous. At least a servant had brought Link a moist cloth with which to wipe the blood from his face.

The day was cool, and though the sky was overcast, the atmosphere was exceptionally bright, as often occurs on hazy spring mornings. It was as though the humidity captured sunlight in droplets suspended in the air and kissed gently upon one's face. Before such a scene Link stood, gazing out into the emptied court, his back to Zelda's departing back. He did not turn even to speak.

"Did she harm you, Zelda?" His tone was mild.

Zelda stopped and looked at him. She could tell he was still sore by the stiffness with which he stood, his figure a sable silhouette against the luminous haze. "No, she didn't touch me except to keep me from screaming. She scarcely even spoke.'"

"And Klave?"

"He did no harm, but only frightened me."

He said nothing more. He watched the first wisps of smoke rising into the air like a hand weakly extended towards the heavens searching in futility for an iota of mercy while the townspeople joined the court in the unseemly celebration of the well-anticipated bonfire. It was a glimpse into hell.

He tarried there long after Zelda had left, and even after the last flames subsided and the few lingering peasants dispersed. As his head was bowed over his folded hands he felt ill—not a physical illness, but an infection of the mind that poisoned the security of his being. _Guilt._ Guilt is a common sickness, in most cases easily remedied by a confession or apology, but Link's guilt was of a different nature. The origin of his guilt was no minor error of behavior against another, but a laceration of his own honor. It was the virus of secret burning guilt that can breed a cancerous tumor of bitterness and shame.

He had failed her.

Over and over he contemplated the multitude of ways he had failed her. Oh how his rage betrayed him! He had allowed his feelings of hatred to fester and ferment so that when at last he stood before Iain Klave he was so drunk from fury he could not stand. His hand drifted subconsciously to his lips, and remembered the feeling of warm blood dripping from his nose. His head still ached from the brutal concussion caused by the powerful swing of the heavy door. Above his brow a small cut revealed where he had hit the floor. If only he had not been so careless, he could have killed Klave. Or that night in the harbor—had he been better prepared, he might have killed him then. Iain and the king would yet live, and Zelda would not be overwhelmed by such suffering and loss or be burdened with so heavy a responsibility as the crown of Hyrule. He might have had the satisfaction of taking Silvanna's last breath from her, instead of witnessing her mockingly surrender it as if by her own will. He could not forget her eyes as she spoke, as if it pleased her to die. In death she had been victorious, because it was _the law_, which she so brazenly defied, that lit the fire under her feet. _"But Hylia yet lives, and shall hereafter!"_ Her words echoed tauntingly.

_Hylia_... Hylia would live forever, because Hylia was immortal. It was a name, an ideal, a symbol of all that Silvanna personified. It was her imprudent passion, her self-indulging and inconsiderate character. It was all that Link abhorred. Her body was no more than dust and ash, and yet, she would never die, because Link had not killed her.

He sank to his knees and cried out in anguish.

**A/n: **(1) "You know as much as I do that royalty are simply slaves dressed in silk with full stomachs." - (Chapter 5, _Her Royal Servitude_).


	19. With Stitches of Tenderness

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: With Stitches of Tenderness**

It had been late morning when Zelda was called to the council, and now it was late afternoon. She had not eaten all day, and though she had not much appetite, she felt weak from low blood sugar. She knew it was necessary to remain strong and to appear healthy and lively to the court. Thus she was accompanied by several guards and advisors to the dining hall. As they walked by her rose garden she stopped for a moment and looked up.

"What is that?"

"What is what, milady?" one of the advisors asked.

"I heard a peculiar sound."

They all looked at one another, shrugging sheepishly. "Of what nature, milady?"

It sounded like the cry of a dying man, though she did not say it lest they should think she was mad. "The call of a bird perhaps," was all the more she said of the matter. It was in fact Link's cry of anguish.

In the dining hall Zelda was seated at the head of the table. She felt a sense of unearthly nostalgia. It reminded her of when she was younger, about five or six years old. She was so small that her face barely met the table. Feeling concerned about this, she left her seat to find a much higher one. The court erupted in laughter at seeing the king return to his royal chair to find it occupied by the bouncing gold curls of the petite princess. King Harkinian could not help but laugh as well, and demanded that the poor child be given a cushion for her chair. It did not seem so monstrous in size now, but still too large. Her father was an amiable man, though not so close to her heart. She lamented that there was always a mutual distance between them that gradually grew into a great chasm. She frowned subconsciously.

Upon recovering from her somber reflection she found everyone looking at her, also frowning. She smiled nervously, and they all smiled in return. It was a game. Glancing around at all the smiling faces, she saw that there was one missing.

"Does anyone know why Sir Link is absent?"

The ladies and nobles looked at one another. They all knew Link. They couldn't understand how a young ranger of the forest became a knight of Hyrule, but they accepted it for what it was. He was well mannered, clean, and no other soldier had ever dared cross swords with him, save Iain, and even in his wounded state Link nearly bested him once or twice. Indeed, when he was only thirteen years old and five feet tall they respected his skilled hand and steady eye. Most importantly, however, his presence pleased their Princess, and they so greatly cherished her smile.

Yet there remained something curious about the princess's favorite. He was introverted and reclusive, found most often in his own company. He did not offer much conversation, and when he did speak it was only out of necessity. It was as if he was always aware, always preparing, meditating, contemplating. His ears heard all sound, and when he looked at you it was with perspicacious eyes that pierced the darkest corners of your mind and innermost chambers of your heart. This would have unnerved most, except for his disarming smile, which could calm a horde of irate deku scrubs with only a glance. His air, in turn, was stolid, composed, and silently commanding of veneration.

But alas, none knew where the elusive young knight was, and so they continued to drink their wine. When all the wine had been drunk and the meal consumed, Zelda excused herself. She went looking for Link.

He was not in his room, and he was not in the courtyard. He was not in the foyer, nor the south tower, nor the west or east towers. Dejected, she returned to her room. It had been cleaned since the morning's incidents. A hint of glittering gold caught her eye. It was the hilt of Link's sword peeking out from under her bed. It must have fallen there when he was knocked unconscious. She bent down and picked it up. It was heavier than it looked. She examined it closely, admiring the fine craftsmanship. It was a beautiful sword, though well worn. Now that the council had approved Link's appointment as the new Captain of the Royal Guard, it would be insisted that he be crafted a new one, but she knew he would not have it. This one had sentimental value. She placed it on her dresser and looked out the window. The sunlight waned.

She decided to take a walk before evening fell, hoping she might find Link. And almost as if he were calling to her, she heard faintly the sorrowful tune of his ocarina. She followed it through the rose garden and to the Royal Court. She had not expected to find him there of all places, but yes, there he was, still there in the balcony where she had left him.

* * *

He did not hear her footsteps until alas they walked upon the wooden platform that held the three podiums of justice. He removed the ocarina from his mouth and peered curiously over the balcony. It was Zelda, climbing the tallest podium in her gown and glass heels, which tottered and scraped against its furnished surface as she reached for the roof of the overhang. The brave little woman!

"Zelda!" he gasped, taking her wrist and pulling her over the banister. She laughed as they collapsed onto the floor.

"There are less dangerous means of getting up here, Zelda, such as the stairwell, or even a ladder, compared to this."

"Hm," she giggled, lifting her head from his chest, "but not half so exciting."

"You might have been hurt," he chided.

"Nonsense! An angel has my every tread." She looked deeply into his eyes. "And he is rather handsome," she whispered, smoothing his tousled hair.

He did not smile, but only returned her tender gaze.

"Why are you still here?" she inquired. "We missed you this evening. It is unlike you to miss a meal."

He did not answer. He shifted uncomfortably beneath her. "Zelda, this is unseemly."

She pouted in feigned disappointment as she picked herself up, releasing him from the floor. She smoothed the wrinkles from her dress.

"I'm sorry, Zelda, but what if we were seen? I would not want to impress one of your subjects with a false idea of their princess."

"Perhaps it would not be false," she teased.

"Zelda, I..." He did not intend to be so disaffectionate towards her. It was his bitterness that restrained him from expressing himself. He looked from his boots to the setting sun and once more to his boots. She saw the familiar uneasiness about him.

"Don't let it worry you." Zelda retrieved his hand, beckoning him to follow. "Come on, let's watch the sunset." He silently complied.

They approached the familiar foyer and followed along its plush carpet through one of its many diverging hallways. At the end of the hall was a set of stairs. Zelda glanced back at Link as they began to ascend once more.

"Just a bit farther," she promised.

Link could not help but notice the uncanny resemblance between the stair he was currently traveling and the foreboding climb to Ganon's lair. He prepared himself to walk more than "a bit farther" in case that they were in fact the same. Each great stone step clothed in a scarlet rug looked in too much likeness of the one previous step so that they seemed to slur together like waves of the ocean seen from far away. Before Link could discern one step from another, he found that there were none left. He stood next to Zelda on the highest balcony of Hyrule Castle. The sight left him breathless.

The sky was a velvet canopy above them, falling in folds of rose and violet, lined with golden lace.

Zelda's hair wavered in the slight breeze as she looked toward the sun. "It is so surreal, Link. I feel as though I shall wake up tomorrow and I shall hear Iain's voice. I will see my father sitting at the head of the table. I cannot... see it as real... I wasn't... prepared for this." She did not cry, but smiled bitterly and bit her lower lip.

"Aye, it's a harsh truth that doesn't seem quite real, but it feels painfully real when I think about how I am to blame."

"Link, that is so utterly false! How can you even think that?"

"It's true, Zelda! I could not defeat them when they assailed me the night I was to leave for Hyrule. It led them here—to you—to King Harkinian—to Iain. I have failed you."

"No, that's not true at all. Both of us are standing here still. Can't you see? You have not failed me."

"Though you live, my dear Princess, it seems your heart is broken. It is your heart that I have failed." He bowed his head in contrition.

She could not deny that her heart was broken. Although there was no romance between her and Iain they nevertheless shared a significant bond. They were almost like siblings. He was born nobility, the son of the former captain of the Hylian Guard, and at sixteen he was appointed as her personal guard. His company was forced, but his friendship he gave freely. He had cared for her as a brother, and loved her as a friend. And even the loss of her father, though their relationship was nigh estranged, pained her. He was an affable and generous king, and that his life should be taken so mercilessly rendered the deed all the more malevolent. She could not bearably lift the weighty injustice of their deaths. Aye, indeed her heart was shattered.

She spoke softly. "My brave knight, don't cast down your face in despair."

"It is with shame I am downcast. It haunts me."

"Shame?" her voice echoed, disgusted. "Look up. Look all around you. Look at the forest, the field, the mountain, the desert, the great lake."

Links eyes wandered over the horizon at distant green of the Kokori Forest, the noble peak of Death Mountain, the vast field stretching out into the desert in one direction and to the sea in the other. "Now, look at me." His eyes settled on the young woman next to him.

Zelda continued, "Would you refuse all of this for the sake of complacency?"

Link said nothing.

The princess was growing frustrated. "Life holds a ubiquitous shame, Link. There are some forces against which we are all powerless, so there is nothing in your guilt that isolates you." Her tone softened. "It is only in your courage that you rightfully distinguished."

"But you, Zelda—" She put her finger to his lips to silence him.

"My heart is mine own to defend, but if wish for some trial to redeem yourself, I will give it you." She took his hands in hers and held them delicately between her fingers. "If you wish to mend it of your own devices, then it is yours." His eyes looked at her inquisitively. "Every shard of my heart belongs to you."


	20. The Grave

**Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: ****The Grave**

"Every shard of my heart belongs to you," she whispered, leaning her head tentatively against his collar. She pulled him into a tender embrace and kissed the side of his face.

He pulled away from her reluctantly. "You think I am being ridiculous for feeling this way? For feeling responsible, I mean."

"No, I understand that you feel responsible, but you are not solely responsible. And it's useless to regret, Link. We should simply move forward, pull up the anchor that keeps us trapped in the past, and work towards a better future."

"I feel incapable."

"Oh, don't say that." She held onto him with such tenacity as if he would otherwise dissipate. She stroked his shoulder with her thumb. "You were always so strong. You were always my hope. Be so once more."

"Zelda..." He wanted to say that it wasn't that easy, but then he considered that perhaps it was.

The shame that burned within him was neutralized by her alkaline tears. His pride was appeased by her insightful wisdom. She needed him, and that was all that mattered. But the purge was somehow incomplete. He was not yet satisfied. She had not freed him, but she did enlighten his mind to its fetters.

"Forgive me, Zelda. Forgive my confounded pride."

"Forgive you? You've done nothing against me."

"But I wanted to protect you. I wanted to be there for you. I feel like I couldn't... It hurt my pride." Zelda wasn't sure whether he was talking about the incident of Iain's death or how he left her all those years ago, but it didn't matter. The idea was the same.

She spoke wisely, "I think the only forgiveness you need is from yourself."

That was the key that would unlock the irons of his guilt. It was the radiation that would kill the cancerous beast of shame. Zelda had forgiven him for leaving those five years ago, but had he forgiven himself? She saw beyond his shortcomings, so why couldn't he? Was it only himself that he had failed?

"I guess that's true," he admitted aloud.

One cannot forgive oneself as one forgives another. It is not simply a decision to overlook an error or fault or misdeed. For when a man trespasses against himself, he requires more of himself than pardon. He requires sacrifice. To forgive oneself is to pry open the reason of the mind and relinquish an immutable past in uncertain hope of the horizon. It is to live once more, in knowledge and acceptance of oneself, with peaceful consciousness and renewed vivacity. Simply, it is to let go.

"So true that I am embarrassed by my actions. I would have liked to hide my weakness from you."

"Not weakness, but doubt," she assured with a smile. He smiled also.

"I feel quite foolish." He laughed, looking up at the sky. The sun had long since retired, and the night air was refreshingly chill. For a long while they remained silent, viewing the vastness of space before them.

After some time the silence dissipated.

"Link?" Zelda asked, leaning over the edge.

"Yes?" he answered, looking at Zelda.

"When did our lives become so complicated?" she sighed.

"Oh... I believe it was when a Kokori boy left the forest in search of the Princess of Destiny. Or no, I think it was her prophetic dream that turned the world upside down—Aye, it was all her fault!" He laughed at her as she shook her head and rolled her eyes and smiled unwillingly. She was pleased to see him as himself once more. Though always reserved in public, his mischievous nature privately thrived between them.

"I spoke with the council today." She leaned over her folded arms. "You have been commissioned."

"Commissioned?" He looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"For Captain of the Hylian Guard." It had formally been Iain's position.

"Of what purpose? Isn't there anyone better qualified? I am still so young, Zelda."

"Young _and capable_. There are none other more fit."

He smirked and raised an eyebrow at her. "Flattery will get you nowhere with me, my dear. What do I look like, some young maid to be courted? 'My lord, my lord!'" He curtsied and mimicked a woman's voice. "My father is but a mendicant tanner, and can afford no dowry!"

Zelda laughed heartily at his antics and then folded her arms. "In seriousness, Link." Though she could not even sober herself. "There shall be great pomp and ceremony and speech and—"

"_Cake!_ Oh, are we having a wedding?"

"No, not a wedding, you facetious oaf!" She slapped him playfully on the arm.

"Might I at least don a bride's frock?" He pouted in jest.

"If you don't stop this silliness, it will your uniform!" she teased.

Their insides ached with laughter, and when it grew quiet again they heard guards arguing in the nearby rose garden about when the daffodils would be in bloom. They erupted into an encore of laughter. They tried to hush and calm themselves, but only wheezed and snorted and slid helplessly to the floor, where they could not help but laugh once more.

At last they unwound, content with releasing their pent up foolishness and lying on the scarlet carpet with their heads close to one another, looking out into the night above them.

"We are such children," Zelda admitted with a sigh.

"Aye, we are but our age," Link agreed.

"The council is right. I cannot administer to this kingdom alone."

"Alone?" He tilted his head toward her. "What do you mean?"

"My father's funeral is in two days. A regent shall rule for an interim while 'I mourn', but as I am of age, it cannot exceed half the year. The council has advised that I marry before my coronation. I suppose I should marry by then. The council, the _wise_ and _generous_ council," she exaggerated, "They have already drawn a list of recommended suitors!" She laughed out of hysteria rather than humor.

"I've never known such hasty old men." He knew one day he would have to withdraw his affections from her so that she might perform her royal duty to marry and procreate. He had not expected her to be ripped from him so soon.

"Aye, true, but they are advisors, not a legislature. I am not even required to marry should I not desire it, as great a political error as that would be, considering I now have no living family. Or maybe I shall marry a commoner out of spite for these proud nobles!"

"They would not approve."

"Perhaps not—not wholly, and not immediately, but in time I know Hyrule will love you as I love you.

Link sat up and looked at her, aghast at her words. "Zelda, you can't possibly—"

"Did you think that I could have chosen any other?"

"I think you have greater faith in me than all the faith I have. You're certain your reason is not clouded by sentiment?"

"As certain as I lie beneath the heavens, it is reason that commands it." She lay back with her arms folded behind her.

"Though it remains an honor too high for one with such common origins as me." Link leaned his back against the edge of the balcony beside her and buried his face in his arms. "Your will is no longer free, but captive of obligation, milady. Remember, duty before honor."

"Modesty does not befit you, Link. If only you could step outside yourself and see you for who you are. You're an exceptional man." Link looked over Zelda's hand, the Triforce of Wisdom very much eminent in her as well as her comforting words.

"Oh Zelda..." he sighed. "Only you could make me feel as such, but if you've considered the consequences of this decision, if you truly want this, then I should be proud to take your hand." He stood and helped her from the floor, pulling her close to him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Opening them, he took Zelda's face in his hands and caressed her cheek. The brilliance of her violet eyes melted his countenance into a smile. His infectious expression caused her to smile as well. He leaned down and kissed her so softly, as if she were as fragile as a formation of ash and as sacred as the stained-glass windows of the Temple of Time. Returning from her lips, he smiled again and whispered in her ear, he softly in her ear, "Really though, I can't afford a dowry."

She smiled amusingly. "Oh stop it."

His voice turned serious again. "I will stand with you to the grave," he whispered, "Your hand for mine."

It had grown late into the evening and so the princess decided to retire, lest the court get suspicious of her midnight affairs. Link walked her to the foyer where they parted.

* * *

Link rose early the next morning, hoping to meet Zelda before she was again called upon by the council. He did not even need to open the door to her room in the west tower. It was already open. It was also empty. The bed remained, though bare. A few pieces of furniture still clothed the floor. Perplexed, he looked about the west tower. There was one servant cleaning on the first floor who informed him that the princess's chamber had been moved to the master bedroom in the south tower.

He did not find her in the south tower. Indeed, he never arrived at the south tower. As he walked down the royal hall from the west to the southwest, he saw her. Her back faced him as she gazed at a portrait hanging on the wall. It was the portrait of Silvanna Hylia. Zelda did not stir as Link approached her, but stared intently at the painting.

"She was my mother, wasn't she?" Her voice was staid. She did not refer to the woman in the painting, but the one she had sentenced to death. Link did not respond. She continued, "I know you know." She glanced at him briefly.

"Let the bones of history remain buried, Zelda, buried in ambiguity where they can do no harm."

"I only want to know the truth," she insisted.

"I will not burden you with it. Please, let it go, and think of it no more."

She bowed her head and nodded. "I have another meeting with the council this morning, but I won't announce our engagement until next week, after this business with the memorials is finished. They shall be more agreeable then." He smiled awkwardly, as one who tries to smile when everyone else remains as grave as a garden sculpture. Her fingers grazed his arm affectionately as she left.

When he could no longer hear the echo of her footsteps, he looked once more at the painting, at Silvanna's grace and impish smile. It tried to mock him, though he would not allow his memory of her the pleasure. He removed it from the wall and carried it surreptitiously to his room.

Silvanna Hylia Harkinian, the last of the Hylian Dynasty, was not buried in the royal vault of her family. Her flesh was not burned from her bones, nor were her ashes pervaded by the winds of justice. She professed that Hylia would live forever, and she lived now. She lived in the portrait that had adorned the royal hall. She lived in time. She lived in his memory, which would outlive anyone else's memory of her.

He had not taken the breath from her body, but he would kill her yet, and this was his method. There her portrait fed the eager blaze of the ornate marble fireplace as well as the conflagration of his satisfaction. He stood before the fire, entranced by the recoiling edges of the burning canvas, the blurring oils, the famished sparks consuming all before them. With each moment her vitality would wane until at last she would be forgotten. His final breath, though he knew not the hour, would be hers also, her memory interred with his own eventual corpse. Side by side they would be buried, bound together for eternity.

Such is the substance of conspiracy.

**Ending Notes:** This story is just never finished, but I'll continue to work on it. Thank you, reviewers, for your continual support.


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